Sea of Monsters: Annabeth
by silverblaze011
Summary: Things are changing in Annabeth's life; changes she doesn't like. Thalia's spirit is waning, the camp is growing vulnerable, and Chiron has left the fate of the only demigod safe haven in the hands of two teenage kids. But can they do it? SoM:Annabeth POV
1. Chapter 1

**Well, long time, no see! It's been awhile, hasn't it? I'd be surprised if I still had readers after keeping you all waiting two months for this sequel. I guess I should start off by explaining, because I owe you guys that. You see, when I finished Lightning Thief, I was drained. My inspiration juice (hey, I've been writing all day. Don't get on to me about my bad puns) was completely dried up. I needed time to refresh myself... so I took a rather long break from writing. But I'm back now! I've already written the first four chapters, so there's no excuse for me not to update by next Wednesday, at the very latest. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer (man, it feels good to be doing these again) : I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

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><p>The darkness was suffocating.<p>

I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I couldn't touch… it was as if all of my senses had been cut off by the impending gloom. I tried to scream, but no sound left my mouth.

And then, as if someone had switched on the light, the darkness all but melted away and I was faced with a scene much more horrifying.

A giant creature was slithering on the ground in front of me. At first glance, I thought it was a lizard, but I soon saw it was much worse.

Its head was a rooster, with the black, beady eyes and the bright red wattle under its shining beak. The green, scaly body clearly belonged to a lizard, but the tail was a snake's. It was huge in size—about the same width as a fridge and stood six feet tall—and that made it all the scarier.

And then I noticed what it was doing: it was circling a pine tree with an odd type of malice on its face, the long tail wrapping around the trunk with an almost evil kind of longing. With a jolt, I realized it wasn't circling just any old pine tree; it was circling _Thalia's_ pine tree.

My surroundings came into focus: I was standing on a grassy hill, the moonlight reflected in the dew. Stars shone above me, twinkling innocently. Below me, I could see the place I'd been longing to see for months: Camp Half-Blood. It was sleepy and quiet, and I suspected no one knew a monster was slithering just inside their boundaries.

_Yes,_ a cold voice rang in my head, followed by a malevolent laugh. _Destroy. Destroy! The pathetic heroes won't know what hit them…_

The rooster-lizard hybrid stopped circling. It gave a long, low hiss that sent shivers up my spine.

_It is time, master?_ A cold, hissing voice said icily. The voice sounded like two knives scraping against each other.

_Yes. _The cruel voice said._ It is time. Destroy! _The malicious laugh rang once more in my head.

The monster's mouth opened wide, as if smiling, and bared its fangs with almost heinous enjoyment. They were long and slender, and looked completely lethal. They were all but dripping with poison.

It was eyeing the tree hungrily, inching ever closer with each rotation. And then it hit me what it was going to do.

"_No!_" I screamed, standing, helpless and unable to move, at the edge of the scene. "Stop!"

The monster faltered, as if it could hear me. It looked my way and hissed, its black eyes narrowed.

_Hmm,_ the voice purred. _It seems we have an unwanted visitor. Go on, then._

The monster opened it mouth, revealing yet again the horrible fangs. A drop of green poison dripped from the fang, landing on the grass with a sizzle. The small circle of grass immediately turned brown and wilted.

The monster advanced and bared its teeth more prominently and, before I had time to react, lunged.

Before the heinous fangs could reach me, though, the scene changed and I was standing in a dark cave-like place. The walls were made of jagged rock, and shadows drifted lazily across the room, though there was no one there to make them.

Something sat huddled in a corner. It seemed like it was nothing more than a solidified shadow, and the other shadows gave it a wide berth.

_The boy is a threat,_ said a cold voice. I winced as I heard it; it sounded a lot like the voice I heard on the hilltop with the monster_. I would prefer he not reach his safe haven, but the girl is seeing too much. She will want to bring him with her to safety. _

_ What do you propose? _hissed another voice from somewhere. I didn't turn around to search for it though; it was as if the dark shape in the corner was freezing me to my spot.

_Stop her…_

A sharp _crash_ splintered me out of my sleep. I sat up in bed, shaking and sweating profusely. I groped my bedside table for my dagger, still halfway inside dreamland and ready fight an intrusion, but withdrew my hand immediately when I felt a sharp pain run up my hand. I examined it in the pale light coming from my window, and saw a trickle of dark blood slowly meandering down my palm. I looked at my beside table and saw that my glass of water had tipped over and broken, spilling the water onto my floor and littering my table with sharp-edged glass.

Cursing, my heart still racing as if I was fighting a monster, I wrapped my hand in my pajama shirt to cork the bleeding. The cotton seemed to stop it up pretty well, though my shirt was now dotted with red.

With my un-bleeding hand, I carefully extracted my dagger from the mess of glass. When my fingers closed over the smooth metal handle, my breathing slowed immediately and a type of calm settled over me. Nobody would be hurting me if I had my knife on hand.

I looked out the window; moonlight was pouring through the gauzy curtains and the sky beyond was black, the stars shining dully in the Virginia sky. My clock read 1:47 in the morning. I slid out of bed, my hand still cradled in cloth, and set off to find the first aid kit.

I left my room and crept along the hall, past the twins' room and the bathroom, coming to a stop at the stairs. Hairs on the back of my neck stood up suddenly, and I looked behind me, but the darkness was too thick to see anything. My nightmares had left me with an uncanny feeling that something was watching me.

Still feeling uneasy, I climbed down the stairs and rummaged through the kitchen drawers, my dagger still held tight in my uninjured hand. Finally, I located a couple stray bandages and put my hand under the sink, cleaning out the cuts with the running water. I looked briefly at the calendar hanging over the sink; it was only a week until the end of school, and I felt a brief upsurge of happiness that summer—or more importantly, Camp Half-Blood—was so close. But then I felt my neck tingle again, and that happiness was diminished and was replaced with an odd type of fear.

Impulsively, I looked over my shoulder. I saw nothing but the backdoor and the vast darkness that was visible through the window. My eyes told me nothing was there—but my instincts were telling me otherwise. And the past few years, I'd learned to trust my instincts.

I dried my hand with a rag and stuck on the bandages, my eyes still trained on the door. I half-expected the rooster-snake monster to come crashing through the windows.

When my bleeding hand was more or less taken care of, I slowly walked to the door and looked out the window. I was met with darkness, not unlike I'd expected. Moonlight spilled over the ground, lighting up the twins' plastic toys that littered the grass. I cautiously pushed the door; it opened with an ominous creak. I stepped outside and listened: all was silent except for the thud of the door behind me falling back into place. I was about to turn and go back inside when I felt an unnaturally warm breeze against my neck.

A low growl echoed through the yard, and I clutched my knife tighter.

As if melting out of the shadows, a huge creature appeared before me. It towered over me, and its foul breath washed over my face. Its fur was black as coal and its blood-red, canine eyes glinted hungrily. It pawed the ground, its claws upending tufts of grass and dirt.

A part of me groaned; of all times to have a hellhound thrust upon me, why did it have to be now?

I didn't have much time to sulk though; the hellhound was already leaping through the air, snarling. I gave a surprised yelp and flattened myself against the house, barely missing its huge paws. It landed on Helen's flower pots, and I heard the shrill tinkle of clay as they were destroyed under the hellhound's weight.

The hellhound gave another low growl and turned. I stepped away from the house and leapt forward, meeting its retaliatory lunge. I managed to slash its ankle, but the cut wasn't deep enough to kill it. It angrily swiped at me, managing to give me a slice in the cheek. I backed up quickly and stumbled on a toy truck, falling on my back and landing on something hard.

I quickly got back up, ignoring the sharp pain in my back, and slashed again. I managed another shallow cut to its shoulder, but that just earned me another cut in the face.

I twirled and slashed, circling around the monster in a type of messed-up dance. I was hoping to confuse it, and then maybe it would be easier to strike. The hellhound's ferocious eyes followed my movements, its snarls ripping through the night air. It tried to pounce, but I was too quick. By the time it was leaning on its haunches, I was already out of its way.

I tried to stab the monster, but it was tough. Every time my blade got close to its fur, it repositioned itself and tried to paw me, using much the same technique I was.

I decided it was time to break the synchronized waltz. I stepped out of our circle and backed away as much as I could before the monster could realize I'd gone, and got an idea that, looking back on it, was very risky and very Percy-ish.

I aimed my dagger at the monster and threw it. It was a perfect shot; the blade hit it right in the shoulder and the monster wailed and stumbled. For a second, I'd thought I'd won. But then the hellhound ripped out the blade with its teeth and dropped the dagger at his feet, growling once more.

I was stunned; my knife had sliced clear into the hellhound. Why had it not killed it?

The monster noticed my momentary confusion and took advantage of it. He lunged, arching through the air almost gracefully, its teeth bared. The hellhound was already so close that there was nothing I could do but hit the ground and roll out of the way.

One of its claws caught my arm and dragged a deep cut. I cried out, trying to rip my arm from the hellhound's grip, but the claws were in too deep. With my free arm, I groped frantically to see if there was anything I could use as a weapon. My hands closed around a yellow Tonka truck. With all the force I could muster, I threw the toy at the hellhound. It hit it right in the eye. It wailed and let go, giving me enough time to roll over to where my dagger was.

I clutched it tightly and prepared to get up, but before I could, the hellhound had pounced on me, its claws sinking into my shoulders. The pain was intense. Black stars momentarily dotted my vision, and when I could see clearly again, I saw the hellhound's fangs inches from my face, its mouth opened in a growl.

Quickly, I stabbed upward. The hellhound faltered, stopping mid-growl, and burst into a flurry of dust.

I continued to lie there, surrounded by the remains of the hellhound, spitting some of it out of my mouth. I tentatively touched my injuries, wincing, and withdrew a hand covered in blood.

Through the haze of the pain, there was a nagging question in the back of my mind: why had there been a hellhound in my backyard? Hellhounds can only be summoned from the Underworld, so that left two options: Either the hellhound found its own way out of Tartarus—which was unlikely because, with the Underworld being in California, the hellhound would have had to travel across the country to find me, and there were likely many more half-bloods on the journey that the hellhound could've attacked—or someone had set that monster on me.

But who? Luke?

My stomach twisted at that thought. Despair peppered my injury-induced pain. Luke wouldn't have wanted me attacked… would he? I liked to believe that he didn't, but then who had tried to get me killed? Then I thought about my dream, and the cold voice saying _"stop her…"_

"Annabeth?"

With difficulty, I scrambled to my feet, only then realizing I was lying in a mound of dirt the hellhound had overturned. My father was standing in the doorway, his hair ruffled from sleep, looking at me. His expression was not one of shock to find me amid the rubble, dirt-stained and bloodied; it was not one of anger that I'd ruined the backyard in one of my monster-fights. It was one of sad understanding, and I suddenly realized what I must do.

I stepped forward. "I need to leave." I stated. "Get back to camp. Something's wrong, and I have to go."

"Do you need me to drive you?" He said calmly.

I shook my head. "No. I have to… make a stop on the way."

I'm not sure where it came from. I guess it had been sitting in the back of my mind from the time I woke up. The thing was: if camp really was in danger, there was only one person I knew of to help me.

But my dad nodded, like he'd expected this. He stepped aside and I walked past him into the house.

The kitchen was eerily dark and silent. Bandage wrappers lay on the table where I'd left them. The slightly bloodied dishrag I'd used to clean my glass wound was draped over the side of the sink. It seemed impossible that I'd just been attacked mere feet from its strange calm.

My dad walked in from behind me and pulled out the first aid kit. He made me sit down as he cleaned my wounds with antiseptic. The amber liquid burned my cuts, hurting almost as much as the actual injuries had, but I bit my tongue and kept my silence, refusing to cry out.

"Did I wake Helen and the twins?" I said quietly.

He nodded, dabbing my arm cut. "The twins have gone back to bed, and Helen's upstairs. I told her to wait."

I remembered there was a window in the master bedroom that overlooked the backyard. "Did you… see?"

He looked at me in the eyes, and it struck me how weary he looked. It was easy to forget that, in his lifetime, he'd been acclaimed as one of the best military historians in the country, fallen in love with a goddess, and had to deal with a daughter running away from him. Maybe I haven't given him enough credit, I thought guiltily.

"Only the end of it. I rushed down to help, but by the time I got down here, the monster was gone. It was terrifying, Annabeth."

"Sorry," I mumbled, though I knew I had no need to apologize. _I _hadn't summoned the monster, so why was I feeling like I'd caused the distressed look in my father's eyes?

"It's not your fault," He said, going back to wrapping a bandage around the deep claw mark in my arm. "I'm proud of you."

I smiled tentavley. My father stood up and closed the first aid kit. "Guess I better pack," I said, not looking at my father.

Without hesitating, I rushed up the stairs as quietly as possible, leaving my father standing in the kitchen. When I reached my room, I quickly got dressed and stuffed everything useful into a backpack—spare clothes, a toothbrush, celestial bronze weapons, a handful of drachmas and mortal money—and slung it over my back. I slipped my knife into the waistband of my jeans, and stuffed my invisibility hat into my pocket.

I looked in the mirror hanging over my drawers. My hair was bushy and matted with mud, and, though they were no longer bleeding, my cuts looked gruesome. My pajamas, lying on the floor in a heap, were dirtied and had two rips near the shoulders, where the hellhound had clawed me. They, too, were stained with blood.

I quickly ran a brush through my hair, wincing as it caught on the knots.

I took one last look around my room, fleetingly wondered when I would see it again, and left.

When I came back down to the kitchen, my father was sitting at the table, holding a cup of coffee in his hands. I rummaged through the first-aid kit, threw the antiseptic and a handful of bandages into my bag, slung it once more over my shoulders, and looked at my dad.

"Well," I said. "Goodbye. I'll contact you when I get to camp."

He got up from the table. "Just be safe, okay? I don't want anything to happen to you."

I almost smiled. "I'm a half-blood. This is what I do. Trust me, I've been through worse."

He hesitated, rolling on the balls of his feet, and then leaned forward to hug me. I was startled at first, but returned the favor.

"I love you," He whispered before pulling away.

I just smiled weakly, unsure of what to say. It was times like these that always made me feel awkward around my dad—those unexpected moments where he sprung his love on me.

"I better get going," I said, turning my back on him and marching through the front door.

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><p><strong>I'd love to hear your thoughts on my debut chapter. Review? <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Enjoy chapter two!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

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><p>"Show me Chiron, at Camp Half-Blood." I announced, throwing a drachma into the mist.<p>

It had been a week since I'd left Virginia, and I'd finally made it to New York City, after much hitch-hiking and stowing away on cargo trucks, not to mention fighting off monsters in every city. I was exhausted, and there was nothing I wanted more than to know what was going on at Camp Half-Blood. More dreams had found their way to me, all depicting one thing: Camp was in trouble. And I was thirsty for answers.

The mist shimmered, and then Chiron, my centaur-slash-teacher stood before me.

"Annabeth?" He asked uncertainly. He had bags under his eyes, and his beard was bushier than normal. His eyes widened when he saw me, what with my face caked in dirt and dry blood, and my tattered shirt littered with claw marks.

"Chiron, is everything okay?" I said immediately, forgoing any type of greeting. "At camp, I mean."

He flicked his tail nervously. "There have been… problems."

"Like what?" I asked uneasily. I did not want my dreams to be true.

He shifted his weight. "Now is not the time to discuss such matters."

"What are you talking about?" I cried. "If camp is trouble, I want to help! I've been having these dreams about trouble at camp—"

"Annabeth," He said. His voice was tired. "come to camp, if you must. But just be aware that there will be changes. I'm afraid I have to go now."

He raised his hand to slash through the mist, but I said, "Chiron, wait!"

His hand hesitated, and I seized my chance. "Is this… does this have to do with… the prophecy?"

My words seemed to weigh him down; his shoulders drooped and his eyes seemed even more tired than before. "No. The Great Prophecy is yet to come. But that does not mean things here are going to be easy."

"Chiron—" I began, but the mist had already dissipated.

I slouched against the alley wall behind me, the rough bricks scratching my back through my thin cotton shirt. I hated that he wouldn't give me the answers I needed. If camp was in trouble, I wanted to help. But how could I help if I didn't know what was going on?

I had to find out. I was determined now to get the answers I needed, one way or another. And if camp was indeed in danger, then there was only one other person—beside myself, of course—that I'd want to be by my side: Percy.

I took out my knife and studied it. It was stained with the blood of all the monsters that I had met on my journey to New York. The edge of the blade was horribly dull from being used so many times. I wiped it with my shirt, managing to clean off the remnants of the monsters, and attempted to sharpen it on the wall behind me.

I glanced at the newspaper I'd stolen from a dumpster. Its information was useless, though, besides the date. What I really needed was a way to find out where Percy lived, and I doubted that would be plastered anywhere in the paper. I had to get to him; I had to warn him about camp. But how?

And then an idea struck me. I quickly threw down my knife and rummaged around in my backpack, bringing out only a handful golden drachmas and a couple dollars worth of mortal money. I frowned at my measly supply, but plucked one golden coin from my hand and straightened up, looking at the low fog in front of me that had procured a weak rainbow. I looked around, making sure I was alone in the alleyway, and was about to throw in the coin when I hesitated.

What was I going to say? What would Percy think if I just appeared? And would he be alone? I looked up at the gray sky and the low sun that had barely risen past the horizon; it was way too early to expect him to be awake, anyway.

I slumped back against the brick wall, defeated by my reasoning, and thought. Maybe I could go to his apartment and talk to him in person, but where was his apartment?

My eyes lit up again as another idea came to me: I'd just thought of another use for this drachma.

I threw the golden coin into the mist and, without knowing if my idea would work, said, "Show me where Percy Jackson's apartment is."

The mist shimmered and in front of me stood a five-story brownstone. The light outside was grayish, like it was here, so it must not be too far away. Mounted on the door stood the bronze numbers: 1107.

"One-one-oh-seven," I repeated to myself. "One-one-oh-seven…"

Now, if only I knew the street name. Maybe if I asked…?

"What is the street name?" I said to the mist. It immediately zoomed sideways to a street sign a little farther down the block: East 104 and First Avenue.

"Okay… one-one-oh-seven, East 104 and First," I repeated to myself. "Easy enough. What floor is he on?"

Once again the scene zoomed back towards the brownstone and rested on the fifth floor.

"Fifth floor. One-one-oh-seven, East 104 and First. Got it."

I slashed through the mist and the scene disappeared, to be replaced with the brick alley wall opposite me. I slipped my newly-clean knife back into the waistband of my muddied jeans, slung the backpack over my shoulder, and settled my invisibility hat onto my head. Turning invisible wasn't necessary, as it would in no way stop monsters from finding me, but I was sure that I, a girl with scratches on her face and twigs in her hair, was going to attract much more attention than if I travelled invisibly.

I left the alleyway, and found that the sun had risen in the sky a little more. The crowds on the sidewalks were relatively thin at this early hour, but I still took extra care not to bump into anyone. I kept repeating Percy's address under my breath as I walked, watching the last remnants of dawn fade out and get replaced with bright sunlight.

It seemed like I'd walked forever when I finally reached the corner I was looking for: the intersection of East 104 and First. I strode off faster, which was difficult because the crowds on the sidewalk had grown. I tried to weave my way through, but that was much harder when the pedestrians couldn't see you.

I checked the numbers on the brownstones I passed: 1098…1099…1100…1101…

I tripped over a pebble just then and staggered, and impulsively pushed against an old man, the closest thing to me, to regain my footing. A moment later I realized my mistake—both that I shouldn't be touching anybody when I was invisible, and that old men probably shouldn't be pushed. Sure enough, he lurched forward, but, without thinking, I grabbed the back of his coat before he could fall and pulled him upright. He looked around and thanked a puzzled businesswoman standing right behind him. I scurried off before I could hear her response.

I continued to pass the brownstones: 1105…1106…1107.

This was it. But now that I was here, what was I going to do? I couldn't just walk in.

I looked to my right and saw an alleyway. Could there be…?

I stepped into the alley and sighed in relief: there were fire escapes here. There were three of them for the three sets of windows on each floor. They were old and rickety, not the kind of thing I'd willingly climb, but I'd been through worse and I had to warn Percy somehow. I didn't know which one Percy would be in, but if I wanted to find out, I'd have to start looking now.

With a heavy sigh, I made my way over to the closest one and began to climb. Once I reached the fifth floor, I peered into the window.

Wrong one. Percy wasn't in this one; a teenage girl was asleep, wrapped up snuggly in a purple blanket. She looked about Luke's age—

There it was again. That sharp pain in my chest, the overwhelming feeling of betrayal that was brought on with the simple action of thinking his name.

I forced myself to keep moving. I could stay and sulk all day about Luke leaving, but I couldn't afford to lose any time. Camp was in danger, and I had to warn Percy.

To save time, I leapt over the railing of this fire escape and landed softly on the next one. I peered in; once again, there was no Percy.

The room was empty, but the walls were plastered with frilly pink things that reminded me so much of the Aphrodite cabin that I wanted to puke. Ponies and rainbows and anything else completely girly covered everything. I backed away at once; this was definitely not Percy's room, and if it was, we were going to have to have a serious conversation.

I jumped over to the next fire escape and peered into the window. Bingo.

Percy was asleep. His room was a mess, but I didn't expect anything less from him. Clothes and old chip bags littered the floor, and his desk was looked like it had been attacked by a tornado.

I leaned back on the railing. Now that I'd reached Percy, what was I going to do next? I guess there was nothing else to do but wait. After all, I couldn't warn Percy if he was sleeping.

So I waited for him to wake up, watching as the last trace of dawn was washed out by the bright morning sunlight. I thought about how I was going to talk to him; maybe, when he wakes up, I could just take off my hat and knock on the window, and I could talk to him that way.

All of a sudden, Percy shot bolt upright in his bed, as if he'd just staggered his way out of a bad dream. His face was pale and he looked shaken. He was also a bit apprehensive, as if he expected a monster to come barreling through his bedroom door. When he looked out the window, maybe to make sure that a hellhound wasn't drooling outside the glass, his eyes seemed to land on me, and his expression of unease turned to a puzzled one. I looked behind me to see what he was looking at, and saw my own shadow. It fleetingly reminded me of the ominous self-moving shadows I saw in my dream, the one of the cave and the huddled shape I'd had my last night in my Virginian home, but I pushed that image out of my mind as I bit back a curse at my stupidity.

I quickly sidestepped out of his view and leaned back against the brick wall, my ears straining for any kind of noise. From his room, I heard a knock and a muffled voice call something—probably his mother telling him to get up—and I heard him call back, "Coming."

I leaned my head sideways slightly so that I could peer into the window. He was perched on the edge of his bed, holding something bronze and small—his pen/sword, Riptide. He wore a look of longing, as if he'd like nothing better than to take it out and start slashing some monsters with it. But if my dreams were right, that sword was going to have a lot of use in the near future.

He set it on his bedside table and got out of bed. He reached up and started to take off his shirt—

I jerked my head back. My face felt hot. Was he—?

I risked a glance back in the window, and retreated again almost immediately.

He was getting dressed.

I wanted to bury my face in my hands. I felt a hot surge of embarrassment, and silently vowed that I would never speak of this.

I once again leaned back against the brick wall, my face still feeling quite warm, and heard a door slam.

I peeked back inside, rather hesitantly this time, and saw that Percy had left. I let out a frustrated sigh; now how was I going to talk to him? I couldn't very well just climb through his window and pop out of nowhere in the middle of breakfast and say,_ Hey, I'm here to take you to camp!_

Maybe I could catch him on his way to school. That seemed like a much better option.

I climbed back down the rusting fire escape, taking extra care not to slip, and wove my way through the crowd. I decided to wait across the street, as the crowd was much sparser over there and the chance of me being noticed was slimmer. I waited for a brief lull in traffic, and sprinted across the road, narrowly avoiding a collision with a taxi.

I settled against the brick wall of this brownstone and folded my arms, waiting.

The sun was steadily climbing through the sky in front of me and the crowds continued to get thicker. Twice I had to move quickly to avoid getting run into. I thought about my dream I'd had in Virginia, and the horrible monster that had been circling Thalia's tree and eyeing it as if it was a particularly tasty morsel. Just the thought of that monster anywhere near Thalia sickened me, and it scared me to think what had happened after I'd left the dream. Had the monster bit the tree? And if it had… what had happened to it? I remembered what had happened to the grass when the poison had touched it—it had just died. And if that same poison touched Thalia…

I was spared of having to finish that unwelcome thought when I spotted a familiar flash of dark hair: Percy had emerged from his apartment across the street. When I saw him, fully clothed this time, I had a strange surge of happiness. I hadn't realized just how much I'd missed him over the summer, and just looking at him made me smile. Again, he looked my way and his gaze lingered on me, though I was invisible. Then I remembered about my shadow and quickly ducked into a neighboring alleyway, hoping he put my curious person-less shadow down to imagination.

I saw him shake his head and take off jogging down the sidewalk, heading for the subway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

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><p>I'd never been on a subway before, and I doubt I ever want to again.<p>

Sure, it was crowded, which made it difficult for an invisible person to go unnoticed, and there was a dank smell also, as if the seats were slightly moldy. But those aren't the reasons I didn't like the subway ride. No, the reason I was so uncomfortable was because there was a Cyclops on board.

When I'd followed Percy to the subway station, I'd seen the monster immediately. It wasn't like he was that hard to miss, though: He was huge (easily six feet tall) and burly. His face was severely misshapen, but at first glance, he just looked like someone who lived a rough life on the streets. But once you looked past the Mist, it was obvious he wasn't human. He had a single brown eye perched in the middle of his lopsided head, right above his crooked teeth.

I was ready to kill the nasty thing, but Percy marched straight to the Cyclops, who was dressed in tattered jeans and a holey plaid shirt, said hello, and walked with him to the ticket counter as if they were friends. It disgusted me to see a monster—especially a Cyclops—so near, but this one didn't seem dangerous at all. In fact, despite its brawny build, it looked quite nervous and kept close to Percy, like it needed protection.

Of course, Cyclopes were masters of deceit—this I knew first-hand. I kept close to the pair of them as they walked through the station, my hand gripping my knife in case the Cyclops attacked. But he simply boarded the subway with Percy and sat down, twiddling his massive thumbs and looking down at his lap the whole trip.

I spent the next twenty minutes looking apprehensively at the Cyclops, unwelcome memories weaving their way into my mind, as I held tightly to a pole to keep my balance.

When the subway finally lurched to a stop, Percy and his monster friend stepped off the subway and walked a couple blocks. I tailed them, keeping an eye on the Cyclops while trying to walk through the crowd unnoticed.

They stopped at a building that was called, I gathered from the sign outside, Meriwether College Prep. I followed them inside, expecting the stationary middle-school hallway environment: lockers, fluorescent lights, squeaky linoleum. But I was disappointed.

I found out quickly that Meriwether Prep wasn't a normal school. There were no lockers, as kids just brought their backpacks to class. And the classes weren't even _classes_: the desks were replaced by beanbag chairs, and the teachers weren't even dressed like teachers, but instead like they were trying to be teenagers again, with their jeans and rock shirts and sneakers. And, from how they taught their classes, they probably had the brains of teenagers, too.

For example, when I followed Percy to his first class, English, I once again had expectations too high for this school. Instead of actually doing worthwhile things, like learning grammar (and by the way some of these kids talked, they needed it), the teacher sent the kids out to the playground to see what would happen if they were left alone with no supervision, which I thought was just a way for the teachers to get a break from these kids.

I knew it was mistake the moment the teacher locked the door. Almost immediately, a wedgie contest broke out among the students. I watched, torn between disdain and amusement, as I leaned against the side of the school.

As I was keeping a close eye on the Cyclops, making sure he didn't hurt anyone, I saw a boy with shaggy black hair and big, brown eyes lumbering towards him after giving everyone—including, to my disapproval, Percy—wedgies. It was obvious that this boy ran the school. I'd been refraining from punching him as he bullied the other kids, biting back my anger, but as he approached the Cyclops, I merely narrowed my eyes as a kind of savage pleasure stole over me. It's not that I didn't want to help the Cyclops—though that _was_ true—it was that the bully was going to reap his punishment if he tried to go near the monster, and I didn't feel the need to warn him of the danger.

He snuck up behind the Cyclops and attempted to give the monster a wedgie, and in retaliation, just as I'd expected, the Cyclops swatted him roughly and he flew fifteen feet, landing in the tire swing.

"You freak!" The bully yelled, attempting to untangle himself from the swing. "Why don't you go back to your cardboard box!"

I expected the Cyclops to run at the boy, or strangle him, or punch him again, but I did _not _expect the six-foot-three monster to start _crying_.

I stared, stunned, as the Cyclops sat down hard on the jungle gym, bending the bar, and buried his face in his meaty hands.

"Take it back, Sloan!" I heard Percy shout at the boy.

The shaggy-haired boy named Sloan sneered as he attempted to untangle himself from the swing. "Why do you even bother, Jackson? You might have _friends_ if you weren't always sticking up for that freak."

That seemed to anger Percy more than anything. His face reddened and his hands balled up into fists. "He's_ not _a freak. He's just…"

He trailed off, seemingly unable to finish. But Sloan and his friends were too busy laughing to be listening.

As I was too engrossed in watching the Cyclops to pay much attention to the students, I didn't get a good look at the people swarming around Sloan—presumably his buddies—before now. About a dozen crowded around him, and they all were bigger than usual, about the same size as the Cyclops. Half of them were wearing name tags, so I assumed they were visiting, but they were too far away to read.

"Just wait till PE, Jackson," Sloan called. "You are _so_ dead."

The teacher came out moments later and announced they had all passed. I rolled my eyes; if this was considered an acceptable lesson, then I was scared to see what the other teachers had in store.

I left my perch of leaning against the wall and followed Percy and the Cyclops, hoping to get Percy alone so that I could talk to him. But Percy was talking to the Cyclops, and it seemed like Percy was actually_ comforting_ the monster.

"I… I am a freak?" The Cyclops asked thickly.

"No," Percy said. "Matt Sloan is the freak."

The Cyclops sniffed. "You are a good friend. Miss you next year if… if I can't…"

"Don't worry, big guy," Percy said. "Everything's going to be fine."

I scoffed at that. With a Cyclops for a friend, I doubted anything was going to be fine, especially if your name is Percy Jackson.

* * *

><p>The school continued to lower my expectations.<p>

In science, Percy's next class, the teacher told them to mix chemicals until they made something explode. The Cyclops was clumsy with the tiny vials, and knocked a whole tray of them off the counter and made an orange mushroom cloud in the trashcan.

And even after the lab was evacuated and the hazardous waste removal squad was called, the teacher praised them for being _natural chemists_. If they were natural chemists, then I was the world's best singer.

I didn't even bother to pay attention to the rest of the classes, knowing that they'd disappoint me. I just kept a close eye on the Cyclops, trying not to revisit the one time I'd met one.

Finally, after many unsuccessful attempts to get his attention at lunch, I followed Percy to social studies and found they were actually doing something worth learning. Sure, latitude/longitude maps were pretty easy, but at least they weren't dressing up and pretending to be pirates or something.

Thankfully, the Cyclops didn't have this class with him, so I was spared of having to look at its gruesome face. Instead, I watched Percy open his notebook and saw his eyes linger on something on the back of the cover. He wore a look of comfort, and I was sure that a blank cover couldn't make him feel look that way. Curious, I stepped forward.

There, attached to the rings of the notebook, was _me._

I recognized this picture—it was the one my father had taken when we went to Washington, D.C. I was standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial with my arms crossed, a happy smile on my face, as the immortalized president looked out on the horizon from behind me. I'd emailed it to Percy after spring break.

I threw a curious look at Percy; I was glad that he liked the picture, but I wasn't sure how I felt about it being plastered in his notebook.

I backed away, surprised to find that I was slightly blushing.

Percy was about to close the notebook when a hand reached out and grabbed the photo, ripping it out of the rings.

"Hey!" Percy protested.

The shaggy-haired boy from English—Matt Sloan—sneered at the picture in his hands. And then the look melted off his face and his eyes widened. "No way, Jackson. Who is that? She is_ not_ your—"

Percy's ears grew red, and I was sure mine were too. "Give it back!"

Sloan did the quite the contrary. Quickly recovering from his shock that Percy had a picture of a girl in his notebook, he handed it around to his friends, including the massive ones I'd seen outside. They snickered as they ripped up my picture and made spit wads. I clenched my teeth; these kids were really pushing my nerve.

I caught a glimpse at their nametags, the ones I couldn't see before because of distance. They all had really odd names, like MARROW SUCKER, SKULL EATER and JOE BOB. Totally weird.

"These guys are moving here next year," Sloan bragged. "I bet they can pay the tuition, too, unlike your retard friend."

"He's _not _retarded." Percy said through gritted teeth.

"You're such a loser, Jackson. Good thing I'm gonna put you out of your misery next period."

I didn't know how Percy put up with these idiots. They'd be on the ground in five seconds flat if they talked to me like that.

The bell rang then, and as the class emptied out, I seized my chance.

"Percy!" I hissed. He looked around confusedly. I was about to tap his shoulder when a large group rushed in, and I decided it would be stupid to try and talk to him with so many witnesses. I reluctantly settled for following him yet again as he made his way to the gym.

I stopped outside the locker room; there was no way I was going to go in there. I'd already seen Percy undress today—accidentally—and I was not anxious to repeat that.

So I waited until Percy came out with the Cyclops, both of them dressed in laughably horrible tie-dye uniforms.

"Coach," I heard a familiar voice say: Sloan was speaking. I turned around and caught sight of who he was talking to. The 'coach'looked a hundred years old and acted like he was, too. He merely glanced away from his _Sports Illustrated_ magazine when Sloan talked to him and eyed him lazily. "Can I be captain?"

"Yeah. Mm-hmm." He grunted, retreating behind his magazine.

I watched apprehensively as Sloan began setting up the game. The students split up into two groups: A bunch of strongly built kids, including the half dozen visitors, moved to play with Sloan, and a handful of pimply, scrawny kids moved over to Percy's side. This wasn't going to end well.

Sloan spilled the balls in the middle of the gym and grinned evilly at Percy.

I eyed Percy; he looked nervous. The Cyclops muttered something to him. I moved toward them so I could hear.

"What smells funny?" Percy was saying.

"Them." The Cyclops pointed to the visitors. "Smell funny."

I looked uneasily at the name-tagged visitors. They were cracking their knuckles hungrily.

A whistle sounded and the game began. Sloan and his team rushed forward, and I backed against the wall to avoid half of Percy's teammates from running into me in their hurry to hide.

"Tyson," Percy said, and for a second I was confused about who he was talking to. Then I realized that must be the Cyclops's name. "Let's g—"

A ball whizzed past and hit Percy in the gut. He sat down hard on the floor with a grunt, and his eyes unfocused.

The Cyclops named Tyson yelled, "Percy, duck!"

He rolled to the side as another ball whizzed past his ear.

It hit the wall mat, and behind it, someone yelped.

"Hey!" Percy yelled, getting to his feet. "You could kill somebody!"

One of the visitors, whose name tag read JOE BOB, grinned evilly. He seemed to grow in size, towering over even Tyson the Cyclops. I knew at once that these weren't your average seventh graders. "I hope so, Perseus Jackson! I hope so!"

I saw Percy's brows furrow in confusion at the use of his full name, as if wondering how they knew it, and then his eyes widened. He looked around the room as if seeing the visitors for the first time, and I followed his example; they were all eight feet tall and their eyes were wild and crazed, with pointy teeth and hairy, beefy arms tattooed with hearts and hula women. These people _definitely _weren't your average seventh graders, if they were even seventh graders at all. And I had a feeling that we weren't even dealing with humans: We were dealing with monsters.

The bully, Sloan, dropped his ball. "Whoa! You're not from Detroit! Who…"

His voice was drowned out by the other kids' screaming. They were all backing toward the exit, but one of the giants threw a ball with amazing accuracy. It streaked past the crowd and hit the door, slamming it shut. The kids pulled on it, but it wouldn't budge.

I had to do something, because I doubted these giants were friendly. My eyes swept the gym, searching for a plan, as if something would reveal itself…

"Let them go!" Percy yelled.

"And lose our tasty morsels?" The one called Joe Bob growled. "No, Son of the Sea God. We Laistrygonians aren't just playing for your death. We want lunch!"

Laistrygonians…_ Laistrygonians_… The name sounded familiar. And then it hit me: The Laistrygonians were a northern race of cannibal giants. Odysseus ran into them before escaping to the island of Circe. They ate his whole crew before he managed to sail away…

I groaned. Cannibal giants… just the icing on a perfect day.

Joe Bob waved his hand and a dozen more balls materialized in front of him, except these weren't made of innocent red-rubber. Instead they were bronze, perforated like waffle balls with fire bubbling out of the holes. The giants picked them up casually, even though they should've been searing hot.

"Coach!" Percy yelled desperately.

The coach looked up dazedly and studied the scene. Maybe the Mist was working overtime, because he didn't seem to find anything strange about a half dozen giants holding steaming dodge balls.

"Yeah. Mm-hmm." He mumbled, returning to his magazine. "Play nice."

A giant threw his ball. Percy dove aside as the bronze-and-red streak sailed past, barely missing his shoulder and hurtling toward the wall mat.

"Corey!" He screamed.

The Cyclops, Tyson, pulled a scrawny boy from behind the mat just moments before the ball hit it and it burst into flames.

"Run!" Percy told his teammates, gesturing toward the locker room. "The other exit!"

I hurried out of the way to avoid getting crushed by the stampeding crowd of terrified boys, but Joe Bob just waved his hand and the locker room door slammed shut.

"No one leaves unless you're out!" Joe Bob roared. "And you're not out unless we eat you!"

He launched his own flaming dodge ball, and I had to dash out of the way to avoid getting blasted. All around me, kids scattered and attempted to escape.

I had to do something, quick. But what? What could I do? I didn't want to withdraw my knife; what if somebody saw it? How could I explain that?

I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a fireball streaking toward Percy. I had just enough time to register an explosion and see his sprawled form feet away before one of the giants swung his arm backward, hitting me in the face and knocking me to the ground. I held my sore nose and scurried in the opposite direction, afraid I'd given myself away, but the giant didn't seem to notice that he'd hit me.

I got to my feet. My eyes started to water at the pain in my face, and the ache in my muscles that I'd gotten from four hundred miles of warding off monsters seemed to intensify.

I looked around the room; the kids were still screaming, the giants still bellowing. Two streaks of bronze flew toward Percy, who was still lying on the floor, but the Cyclops named Tyson stepped in front of him and prepared to take the blow.

He caught the balls skillfully and threw them back towards the giants. The two giants had just enough time to bellow "BAAAD!" before the balls hurtled into them, and they exploded into twin columns of flame. I couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed by the Cyclops's ability.

Joe Bob, however, obviously didn't share my wonder. "My brothers!" He wailed, flexing his muscles. "You will pay for their destruction!"

"Tyson!" Percy shouted. "Look out!"

Another ball hurtled toward them. The Cyclops didn't have enough time to catch it this time, but instead he just swatted it away. It flew over the coach's head and exploded in the bleachers.

The kids continued to try to get away, avoiding the steaming craters in the floor and banging on the door for help. If this deadly game of dodgeball kept up, the whole block would hear it sooner or later.

"Victory will be ours!" Joe Bob roared. "We will feast on your bones!" The four remaining giants hefted another ball into the hands and prepared to throw.

Even with a third of the giants diminished to dust, they were still hopelessly outnumbered. If I didn't think of something quick, the whole gym would be blasted to bits.

Percy ran toward the locker room, shouted at his teammates to move, and positioned himself in front of the door.

Behind him, Tyson sent two flaming balls hurtling back towards the owners. Two more of the giants were blasted to ashes.

A third ball tore through the air towards Percy. He waited two agonizing seconds, and then dove aside. The ball demolished the door and set off an explosion in the locker room with a huge BANG.

The wall was blasted apart by the force of the explosion, and locker doors, clothes, shoes, and other personal belongings rained down on the gym. I swatted away someone's flaming sock as it landed on my head.

A streak of bronze flew through the air and hit Tyson in the chest with a thud. The Cyclops slid the length of the court and slammed into the back wall, which crumbled on top of him from the force of impact, opening a hole that looked out onto the street beyond. The dazed Cyclops tried to pick up the flaming ball at his feet, but fell back into the cinderblocks.

"Well!" Joe Bob gloated. "I'm the last one standing! I'll have enough meat to bring Babycakes a doggie bag!"

He picked up another ball and aimed it at the crumpled form of Tyson.

"Stop!" Percy yelled. "It's me you want!"

The giant, grinning, turned on him instead. "You wish to do first, young hero?"

Percy's eyes scanned the floor of the gym and landed on a smoking heap of clothes. I followed his gaze; a flash of bronze was sticking out of one of the pockets. He got a resolved look in his eyes, and charged.

"My lunch approaches." Joe Bob laughed.

I made my decision in the split second it took to see Percy sprint head-long into the giant's war path, straight towards certain death. Throwing caution to the wind, I slipped off my invisibility cap, stuffed it haphazardly into my pocket, and took my knife out of my jeans. With as much strength as I could muster, I sunk the blade into the monster's back.

The giant stiffened. I heard a clunk as the flaming ball dropped out of his hand and looked down at the blade of my knife protruding from his stomach. He muttered "Ow," before he burst into a flame of green fire.

When the smoke cleared, Percy was staring at me with mixed relief and shock. I guess I looked pretty ragged, with my torn clothing and beaten-up face.

Sloan seemed to come out of a reverie. He blinked at me, and said, "That's the girl… That's the girl—"

I couldn't help it. I punched him in the nose. It felt great after what I'd seen him to do.

"And _you_," I told him as he lay on the ground, clutching his face. "lay off my friend."

I looked around. The gym was in flames, and the kids continued to scream. Sirens wailed in the distance. Through the glass exit doors, I could see teachers struggling to free open the lock.

I looked back at Percy. He continued to stare at me as though he'd never seen me before. Not the best way to get his attention, I guess.

"Annabeth…" Percy stammered. "How did you… how long have you…"

"Pretty much all morning." I said as casually as I could, sheathing my knife and hoping he didn't figure out that I meant _all _morning. "I've been trying to find a good time to talk to you, but you were never alone."

I saw him groping for answers, putting two and two together. "That shadow I saw this morning—that was—" His face grew red. "Oh my gods, you were looking through my bedroom window?"

"There's no time to explain!" I snapped, blushing a deep red also. "I just didn't want to—"

"There!" A woman screamed behind me. The doors had burst open and adults spilled into the room.

I turned back to Percy. "Meet me outside," I said hurriedly. I didn't have time to be questioned about the smoldering gym. "And him." I said as an afterthought, pointing to the dazed Cyclops with distaste, who was still slumped against the wall. After everything I'd been through with this particular species of monster, it seemed almost an insult to Thalia's memory to drag it along, but I knew I had to. "You'd better bring him."

_"What?"_

"No time!" I said. "Hurry!"

I thrust my invisibility cap onto my head, skirted around Tyson, and leapt through the smoldering hole in the wall. I sprinted down the sidewalk, taking refuge in the first alleyway I could find.

I paced the length of the alley entrance, ignoring that my shadow was most likely visible, waiting for Percy to show up. It seemed questionable that the Laistrygonians had just stumbled upon us. They were, after all, giants that preferred the North. They would never wander as south as New York unless they had to…

I heard running feet. I looked out and saw Percy and the Cyclops running towards me. I reached out and grabbed them as they passed, pulling them into the alleyway as the shrill siren of a fire truck streaked past.

* * *

><p><strong>I'd love your reviews, they keep me motivated!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

* * *

><p>"Where'd you find <em>him<em>?" I demanded, pointing a finger at the Cyclops.

Percy was breathing heavily. He was still outfitted in his tie-dye gym uniform, which was now smoldering a little. Tyson the Cyclops was dazed a bit, and he had a gaping hole in his own gym uniform where the flaming dodgeball had caught him in the chest. Now that I was closer to the monster than I wanted to be, I saw he was badly scarred and looked as if he'd never heard of soap. He gave off a rotten smell, like the inside of an alleyway.

Percy stared at me like I'd just insulted him. "He's my friend."

"Is he homeless?" I asked; that would explain the smell.

"What does that have to do with anything? He can hear you, you know. Why don't you ask him?"

"He can talk?" I'd heard him say a couple words back in the gym, but it would be a great feat for a Cyclops to be able to form sentences, especially one that looked so young.

"I talk," The Cyclops admitted in a deep voice. "You are pretty."

"Ah! Gross!" I said involuntarily, stepping away from him.

Percy frowned at me, but decided not to comment. Instead, he looked at the Cyclops's hands. "Tyson," He said, his voice heavy with disbelief. "Your hands aren't even burned."

"Of course not," I muttered; Cyclopes were invulnerable to fire. "I'm surprised the Laistrygonians had the guts to attack you with him around."

The Cyclops stretched out a hand, reaching for my hair. I smacked his grimy hand away before he could get close.

"Annabeth," Percy said. "what are you talking about? Laistry-what?"

"Laistrygonians. The monsters in the gym. They're a race of cannibal giants who live in the far north. Odysseus ran into them once, but I've never seen them as far south as New York before."

"Laistry—I can't even say that. What would you call them in English?"

I pondered that for a minute. "Canadians," I decided. "Now come on, we have to get out of here."

"The police'll be after me."

"That's the least of our problems," I said, thinking about mt dream of the monster on Half-Blood Hill. "Have you been having the dreams?"

"The dreams… about Grover?"

I paled. I hadn't once thought about Grover, my satyr friend, on the whole trip to New York, nor had I wondered if he was still alive in his search for Pan. "Grover? No, what about Grover?"

"Well, I dreamt that Grover was in St. Augustine. Florida, you know. He was being chased—"

"By what?" I asked anxiously.

"Not sure, but it didn't sound good. Didn't smell the best, either. Like wet sheep wool and rotten meat—"

"Go on." I said impatiently.

"The thing chased him into a bridal boutique, and Grover seemed really shaken up. He hid behind some dresses, and then the store exploded."

"That's it? You didn't see anything else?"

"No, just the monster's shadow. It was really big, but not that distinct. Why? What were _you_ dreaming about?"

"Camp. Big trouble at camp."

"My mom was saying the same thing! But what _kind _of trouble?"

"I don't know exactly. Something's wrong. We have to get there right away. Monsters have been chasing me all the way from Virginia, trying to stop me. Have you had a lot of attacks?"

He shook his head. "None all year… until today."

"None? But how…" My eyes drifted over to the Cyclops. I'd forgotten he was here. "Oh."

"What do you mean, 'oh'?"

Before I could respond, Tyson raised his hand as if he was still in class. "Canadians called Percy something… Son of the Sea God?"

I exchanged looks with Percy; I didn't know how much the Cyclops knew about Greek mythology, and he didn't seem too bright to start off with, but, as I was a counselor back at camp, I'd had experience with having to explain all about the Greeks and I didn't feel like having to enlighten Tyson.

Thankfully, Percy took that job for me.

"Big guy," he started. "you ever hear those old stories about the Greek gods? Like Zeus, Poseidon, Athena—"

"Yes," Tyson said.

"Well… those gods are still alive. They kind of follow Western Civilization around, living in the strongest countries, so like now they're in the U.S. And sometimes they have kids with mortals. Kids called half-bloods."

"Yes," Tyson said again. So this information came of no surprise to him; he must've already known.

"Uh, well, Annabeth and I are half-bloods. We're like… heroes-in-training. And whenever monsters pick up our scent, they attack us. That's what those giants were in the gym. Monsters."

"Yes."

Percy looked confused that Tyson was taking this all so easily. "So… you believe me?"

The Cyclops nodded. "But you are… Son of the Sea God?"

"Yeah," Percy admitted. "My dad is Poseidon."

"But then…" Tyson frowned, and I thought I knew what he was thinking about. Cyclops usually had one father—

A shrill siren pierced my train of thought as a police car raced past our alley.

"We don't have time for this," I said. "We'll talk in the taxi."

"A taxi all the way to camp?" Percy said. "You know how much money—"

"Trust me," I said. If we took a regular taxi to camp, I'd be broke. Luckily, we weren't going to take a regular taxi.

"What about Tyson?" Percy asked. "We can't just leave him. He'll be in trouble, too."

"Yeah," I said grimly. I was hoping we could leave him here, but I knew it was dangerous. Who knew what the Cyclops would say to the police? He might even lose his cool and, instead of crying, injure someone because Percy had left. Even though this Cyclops seemed gentle, I wasn't about to trust it. "We definitely need to take him. Now, come on."

We crept down the alley, sneaking through the side streets until we were far away from the billowing smoke behind us.

* * *

><p>"Here." I stopped them at a partially-deserted street corner and started fishing around in my backpack, looking for a drachma. My supply had been depleted fast: my spare clothes were hardly wearable anymore, my food was nonexistent, and I'd lost all my weapons in a particularly nasty battle with a hydra in Pennsylvania. "I hope I have one left."<p>

"What are you looking for?" Percy asked.

The sirens continued to wail. Police cars kept zooming past, and if I didn't find a drachma quickly, cops would surely recognize us. It's not like it was hard to miss a beat-up girl with tattered clothes, a suspected gym-bomber in a tie-dye uniform, and six-foot-three Cyclops with a smoldering hole in his shirt.

Finally, my fingers wrapped around the familiar smooth face of a drachma. "Found one. Thank the gods." I pulled out the golden coin and examined it; despite being stuffed in my backpack with my dirty and ruined supplies, it was still shiny and unblemished.

"Annabeth, New York taxi drivers won't take that."

I ignored him._ "Stethi, O harma diaboles!"_ I shouted in Ancient Greek, which meant _Stop, Chariot of Damnation!_

I threw the coin into the street and the drachma sank through the asphalt and disappeared.

For a moment, nothing happened. Sirens were still blaring, and the smoke was still billowing.

Then the asphalt darkened, swaying slightly as it lost its solid consistency. A parking-space-sized pool of bubbling red liquid materialized in front of us, and a car rose out of the ooze.

I'd never used the Gray Sisters taxi before, mostly because I'd never had to. But I'd heard that this taxi wasn't known for its smooth riding. And as I watched it rise from the red pool, I wasn't sure if it could even hold my weight. It looked like it was literally woven from smoke, and the hazy car was almost translucent. Words were printed on the side (through my dyslexia, it looked like GYAR SSTIERS) but I didn't have to read it to know that it was the title of the workers of this taxi.

The passenger window rolled down, and a woman that looked a hundred years old poked her head out. Her hair was thin and gray, covering her eyes. She spoke in an odd mumbling sort of way, like her teeth were missing. "Passage? Passage?"

"Three to Camp Half-Blood," I said, opening the cab door and gesturing for Percy to get in. He looked a little freaked out, but honestly, he should've gotten used to things like this by now.

"Ach!" The old woman screeched, pointing a bony gray-tinged finger at Tyson. "We don't take his kind!"

"Extra pay," I promised hurriedly; we really needed to get out of here. "Three more drachma on arrival."

"Done!" The woman screamed.

Reluctantly, Percy got into the cab. Tyson squeezed in next, ducking so he wouldn't hit his head on the smoky roof. I slid in last, trying to distance myself as far away from the Cyclops as possible.

Though the interior was just as smoky as the outside, it felt solid. The seat was lumpy, and the sides, I found as I pushed against them, were solid, too, though you could just vaguely see out of them.

I could see the Gray Sisters sitting up front, all three of them crammed into the driver's seat. I remembered their story: As they were born with only one eye and one tooth between them, they had to share it. Then Perseus (the one in the stories, not the one staring at the ladies in alarm next to Tyson) threw their one eye into a lake, and they went eye-less for years before they found it. I also remembered how they were supposedly swan-like and beautiful, despite the fact that they were born with gray hair. However, as I looked at the three old ladies sitting in the front, _beautiful _was not a word I would choose to describe them.

Their gray hair was stringy, covering their eyes. They each wore a charcoal-colored sackcloth dress. Their skin was sallow and slightly tinged with gray, and I could see one pair of bony hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Long Island!" the sister driving screeched happily. "Out-of-metro fare bonus! Ha!"

She floored the accelerator, and my head slammed back against the seat. A smooth voice came over the intercom: _Hi, this is Ganymede, cup-bearer to Zeus, and when I'm out buying wine for the Lord of the Skies, I always buckle up!_

I glanced down and saw a scary-looking black chain sitting there instead of a traditional seat belt. I decided to pass on that.

The cab sped down the street, making a sudden turn onto West Broadway. The middle sister screeched, "Look out! Go left!"

"Well, if you'd give me the eye, Tempest, I could _see _that!" The driver complained. If it wasn't for the breath-taking speed at which we were travelling, I would've groaned: it was known that the Gray Sister argued a lot about the ownership of their eye, but I would prefer they not do it while we were driving at break-neck speed.

"Wasp!" the third sister said to the driver. "Give me the girl's coin! I want to bite it."

"You bit it last time, Anger!" said Wasp, the driver. "It's my turn!"

"Is not!" Anger yelled.

The middle sister, Tempest, screamed, "Red light!"

"Brake!" yelled Anger.

Instead of braking, though, Wasp floored the accelerator and the car rode up on the curb, screeching around another corner, and knocking over a newspaper box. I gripped the side of the seat, struggling to stay upright as we zoomed through traffic.

"Excuse me," Percy said weakly. "But… can you see?"

"No!" screamed Wasp from the wheel.

"No!" screamed Tempest in the middle.

"Of course!" screamed Anger by the shotgun window.

He turned to me. "They're blind?"

"Not completely," I responded. "They have an eye."

"One eye?"

"Yeah."

"Each?"

"No. One eye total."

Tyson groaned and grabbed the seat. "Not feeling so good."

"Oh, man," Percy said, with a slightly scared look. "Hang in there, big guy. Anybody got a garbage bag or something?"

The Gray Sisters were still grappling over the eye. Percy gave me a look that clearly said _why did you do this to me?_

I was starting to wonder the same thing.

"Hey," I said, trying to reassure him as well as myself. "Gray Sisters Taxi is the fastest way to camp."

"Then why didn't you take it from Virginia?"

"That's outside their service area," I said. If I had the option of taking a nice long taxi ride instead of my strenuous journey, I would've taken it. But now that I was in here with the partially-blind trio, hanging on for dear life, I might've just taken the four hundred mile journey if it meant I could forgo _this_. "They only serve Greater New York and surrounding communities."

"We've had famous people in this cab!" Anger piped up. "Jason! You remember him?"

"Don't remind me!" Wasp wailed. "And we didn't have a cab back then, you old bat. That was three thousand years ago!"

"Give me the tooth!" Anger made a wild grab at Wasp's mouth, but Wasp swatted her hand away.

"Only if Tempest gives me the eye!"

"No!" Tempest screeched. "You had it yesterday!"

"But I'm driving, you old hag!"

"Excuses! Turn! That was your turn!"

Wasp swerved hard onto Delancey Street, throwing me against Tyson. She punched the gas and we shot up the Williamsburg Bridge so fast the cars all blurred together.

The Gray Sisters had moved to physical fighting now, slapping each other as Anger tried to grab at Wasp's face and Wasp tried to grab at Tempest's. Their hair was flying around, giving me a clear view of their faces. And I wished their hair would cover it up again.

They were all tooth-less, expect for Wasp, who had a single yellow tooth in the middle of her mouth. They didn't have any eyes, either, with the exception of Anger, who had a single bloodshot eye that stared at everything hungrily. The other two sisters just had sunken eyelids.

Finally, Anger managed to yank the tooth out of Wasp's mouth, which caused Wasp to swerve toward the edge of the Williamsburg Bridge in her rage, yelling, "'Ivit back! 'Ivit back!"

Tyson groaned and clutched his stomach.

"Uh, if anybody's interested," Percy said. "we're going to die!"

"Don't worry," I said, though I was pretty worried. "The Gray Sisters know what they're doing. They're really very wise."

Percy didn't look exactly reassured.

"Yes, wise!" Anger grinned at us, showing off her newly-acquired tooth. "We know things!"

"Every street in Manhattan!" Wasp bragged, still hitting her sister. "The capital of Nepal!"

"The location you seek!" Tempest added.

Her sisters began to pummel her from each side, screeching, "Be quiet! Be quiet! He didn't even ask yet!"

"What?" Percy asked. "What location? I'm not seeking any—"

"Nothing!" Tempest said. "You're right, boy. It's nothing!"

"Tell me."

"No!" They screamed together.

"The last time we told, it was horrible!" Tempest said.

"Eye tossed in a lake!" Anger agreed.

"Years to find it again!" Wasp moaned. "And speaking of that—give it back!"

"No!" yelled Anger.

"Eye!" Wasp screamed. "Gimme!"

Wasp slapped her sister on the back. With a sickening pop, something flew out of Anger's face. Anger fumbled desperately for it, but ended up batting it with her hand. The slimy green eye flew over her shoulder, sailed behind the seat, and landed right into Percy's lap.

The horrified look on Percy's face would've been comical if we weren't swerving on a bridge a hundred feet above the water. He jumped straight up, hit his head on the ceiling, and caused the eyeball to roll away.

"I can't see!" the Gray Sisters wailed.

"Give me the eye!" Wasp yelled.

"Give her the eye!" I screamed.

"I don't have it!" Percy said.

"There, by your foot," I said, as I saw the sickening green eye roll around on the floor. "Don't step on it! Get it!"

"I'm not picking that up!"

I couldn't believe he was refusing to touch the gross thing, even if it was what could get us safely to camp. And right now, I wanted nothing more than to lie down in my cabin and forget this whole ordeal.

The taxi slammed against a guard rail, sending sparks flying everywhere as it skidded along with a precarious grinding noise. The whole taxi shuddered and billowed gray smoke, as if straining to stay compacted.

"Going to be sick!" Tyson warned.

"Annabeth," Percy yelled to me. "let Tyson use your backpack!"

"Are you crazy?" I yelled back. I was not letting that Cyclops puke into my bag. "Get the eye!"

We swerved sharply away from the rail and hurtled down the bridge toward Brooklyn, going way too fast. The pressure of it pushed against my chest, making me momentarily lose the ability to speak. The Gray Sisters continued to pummel each other and cry out for the eye.

Finally, Percy ripped off a piece of his burned shirt and used it to pick the eye off the floor.

"Nice boy!" Anger cried, though how she knew Percy had picked up her eye when she herself was blind, I didn't know. "Give it back!"

"Not until you explain," Percy said. "What were you talking about, the location I seek?"

"No time!" Tempest cried. "Accelerating!"

I risked a glance out the window and saw that the cars and houses were nothing more than an indiscernible gray blur. The sight made me queasy.

"Percy," I warned. "they can't find their destination without the eye. We'll just keep accelerating until we break into a million pieces."

"First they have to tell me," Percy said. "Or I'll open the window and throw the eye into oncoming traffic."

"No!" The Gray Sisters pleaded. "Too dangerous!"

"I'm rolling down the window." Percy taunted.

"Wait!" They screamed. "30, 31, 75, 12!"

"What do you mean?" Percy asked. "That makes no sense!"

"30, 31, 75, 12!" Anger wailed. "That's all we can tell you. Now give us the eye! Almost to camp!"

The grayish blur I saw as we travelled through the city had now turned green from the passing trees. Up ahead, I could vaguely see Half-Blood Hill, with Thalia's pine tree at the crest.

"Percy!" I said urgently; if we didn't stop soon, we would be destroyed. "Give them the eye _now_!"

Percy obeyed and threw the eye into Wasp's lap. The old lady snatched it up greedily and popped it into her eye socket, and blinked.

"Whoa!"

She slammed on the brakes. I flew forward, my head hitting the seat in front of me. The car spun four or five times in a massive cloud of smoke before lurching to a halt at the base of Half-Blood Hill.

Tyson let loose a large burp. "Better now."

"All right," Percy told the Gray Sisters. "Now tell me what those number mean."

I looked out my window and gasped in horror. "No time!" I opened my door. "We have to get out _now_."

I all but jumped out of that cab, glad to be as far away from those psychotic ladies as I could, but that feeling was short-lived.

I stared in terror at the top of the hill. At the crest stood a group of campers. And they were under attack.

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><p><strong>Review?<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

* * *

><p>The Gray Sisters wasted no time getting out of the vicinity—and I couldn't blame them. The scene on the hill was <em>not <em>one I wanted to see my first day back at camp.

The monsters terrorizing the hill were bulls. Not regular bulls, though. They were big as elephants, with bronze hides and fist-size ruby eyes. One of them roared, and out of its mouth came a long stream fire.

"Oh, man," I groaned.

I recognized them immediately. Colchis bulls, inventions of Hephaestus. Even from this distance, I could see the air around them shimmering in the heat of their nearly indestructible hides.

Tyson and Percy scrambled out after me, and as I took the three of us in, I realized we were in no shape to fight these monsters. I scarred, badly bruised, and exhausted, with nothing on hand but my knife. Percy had nothing but his smoldering gym uniform and Riptide, and the Cyclops—the Cyclops was fire proof! How had I forgotten?

I looked back at the campers, prepared to run into battle, but I hesitated at what I saw the bulls doing: they were they were terrorizing all over the hill, even evading behind Thalia's pine—behind the camp borders. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach that this had to do with the monster I'd seen in my dream.

A gruff and familiar voice shouted, "Border patrol, to me!"

Border patrol?

The sinking feeling got heavier. There used to be no need for border patrol—the magic boundaries took care of that for us. And if there was a border patrol, that would mean the magic boundaries had failed.

"It's Clarisse," I said weakly, gesturing toward the camper who'd shouted, as I'd recognized the rough style with which she was fighting. "Come on, we have to help her."

There was no doubt that she needed help—her fellow warriors had scattered in panic as the bull charged them, running past large swatches of burning grass surrounding the pine tree. One hero's horsehair plume was ablaze, and he was scurrying around in panic trying to put it out. Clarisse's armor was charred from the bulls' flaming breath, and she was fighting with a broken spear shaft. The other end was embedded futilely in the metal joint of one bull's shoulder.

Percy uncapped his pen, and it extended into the familiar bronze sword. He turned to the Cyclops. "Tyson, stay here. I don't want you taking any more chances."

"No!" I said. If we were going to have any chance of defeating the bulls, we'd need someone who was immune to fire. "We need him."

He stared at me like I'd just pulled a rabbit out of my pocket. "He's mortal. He got lucky with the dodge balls but he can't—"

"Percy, do you know what those are up there? The Colchis Bulls, made by Hephaestus himself. We can't fight them without Medea's Sunscreen SPF 50,000. We'll get burned to a crisp."

"Medea's _what_?"

I rummaged around in my backpack, looking for a similar substance that could withstand some of the heat of these bulls. I cursed when I found nothing. "I had a jar of tropical coconut scent sitting on my nightstand at home. Why didn't I bring it?"

"Look," Percy said. "I don't know what you're talking about. But I'm not going to let Tyson get fried."

I didn't know how he could be oblivious to the fact that his friend was a Cyclops, but it seemed he was. "Percy—"

"Tyson, stay back." He cut me off, raising his sword. "I'm going in."

The Cyclops started to protest, but Percy had already run up the hill toward the bulls. I cursed at his ignorance and joined him in battle.

Clarisse was yelling at her patrol to get them into a phalanx formation. It was a great tactic—it gave protection to the campers while they had clear shots at the bulls—but Clarisse managed to muster up only six of her ten campers. The other four were too busy running around with flaming helmets to listen. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, locking together their shields to form a wall from behind which they stood, their spears bristling out over the top.

Despite the great battle strategy, they lacked the crucial strength in numbers. I ran forward to help, taunting one of the bulls into chasing me. I plopped my invisibility cap on my head, and disappeared from sight, confusing the bull and giving me time to assess the situation. I tried to stab the bull in a weak spot behind its knees, but the heat was intense and my blade was too short. I could barely get within half a foot of the monster before my lungs started to feel as if they were melting.

I looked back at Clarisse; the other bull was charging their phalanx. I was surprised at the speed of which it moved, as if it didn't make a difference to the monster that a two ton bull shouldn't be able to move so quickly. It just did it anyway. It opened its polished mouth of bronze and let loose a column of white hot flame, just barely missing the front line.

"Hold the line!" Clarisse shouted.

At that moment, the bull I'd confused shook itself out of its bemusement and charged toward Clarisse's unprotected side.

"Behind you!" Percy yelled. "Look out!"

The sound of Percy did nothing but startle Clarisse, and she lost her focus. The first bull slammed into the shield wall and the formation broke. Clarisse flew backward and landed in a smoldering patch of grass, just out of reach of the bull's trampling feet. The bull breathed another stream of fire, this time at the remaining heroes. The shields practically melted off their arms, instantly becoming useless. They dropped their ruined weapons and ran as the bull I was momentarily distracting closed in on Clarisse.

I threw off my invisibility cap, knowing that it meant nothing if I couldn't be seen, as Percy lunged forward and grabbed Clarisse by her armor straps, dragging her out of the raging bull's path.

I ran forward to the remaining heroes and took up Clarisse's position as I tried to get them under control. We were just inside the boundaries now, and I could see Camp spread out below me. My stomach clenched at the thought of what would happen if we let these bulls slide through our defenses.

"Spread out!" I yelled. "Keep them busy! We can't let them through!"

I looked to my left; Percy had deposited Clarisse at the base of the pine. The bull that had trampled past Clarisse seemed to lose interest in us, and made a wide arc back to Percy. A second bull with a flaming gash in its side looked murderously at him. How had both bulls decided to ambush him, when there were plenty of campers over here?

Percy lunged, but rolled aside as a bull blew flames at him. He sputtered and blindly stepped away, and his foot caught on a root. His face contorted in pain, but he stood his ground and managed to lop off a bit of the bull's snout.

Clarisse had gotten to her feet and ran after the bull, picking up a spear from the ground as she did so. With the bull disoriented, it was almost too easy for Clarisse to throw the spear and hit the bull in the back of the knee. It shuddered and seemed to slow down, continuing to run but in slow motion. It just went round in circles, no longer trying to attack anyone.

One bull down, one to go. I looked over at Percy just as he crumpled to the ground. The bull advanced, and I doubted Percy could get out of its way, and I knew there was no way I could get to him in time.

I knew what to do. It was the only way Percy could avoid getting killed. I shouted, "Tyson, help him!"

I heard Tyson wail back, "Can't—get—through!"

"I, Annabeth Chase, give you permission to enter the camp!"

Thunder shook the hillside, and then Tyson barreled over the crest of the hill, yelling the battle cry of "Percy needs help!"

The Cyclops dove between the bull and Percy just as the bull decided to let loose its biggest fire breath yet.

"Tyson!" Percy yelled.

The blast swirled around him like a red tornado, engulfing him in ultra hot flames. Tyson's features were shielded by the fire, and only his black silhouette could be seen. Heat lashed out, reaching even me. If Tyson had been mortal, the blast would've reduced him to a pile of ashes.

The fire died, and instead of a pile of ashes, Tyson stood there completely unharmed. The bull looked almost as astonished as Percy. Tyson took advantage of his confusion by balling his fists and hitting the bull in the face. "BAD COW!"

A crater bloomed across the monster's face, distorting his features. Dual columns of flame shot out of the bull's ears. Tyson aimed another punch at it, and it crumpled like aluminum foil.

"Down!" Tyson yelled.

The bull staggered and fell on its back. Its legs twitched weakly in the air, steam hissing out of its mauled head in random places. It wasn't going anywhere soon.

I ran over to check on Percy. He didn't look good. I leaned down beside him and gave him some nectar from my backpack, and the pain on his face loosened at once. The hairs on his arms were singed, and a feeble wisp of smoke curled off of his arm.

"The other bull?" He asked.

I pointed toward the malfunctioning monster as Clarisse came stomping toward us. Her helmet had been removed, revealing her stringy brown hair. I noticed a strand was smoldering lightly, but one look at the anger on her face and I decided not to tell her.

"You—ruin—everything!" She yelled. "I had it under control!"

"Good to see you too, Clarisse." I grumbled.

"Agh!" she screamed. "Don't ever, EVER try saving me again!"

I agreed silently in my head. "Clarisse, you've got wounded campers."

That sobered her up. She growled, "I'll be back," and then trudged off to care for the wounded.

Percy stared at Tyson. "You didn't die."

Tyson looked down, as if he was embarrassed. "I am sorry. Came to help. Disobeyed you."

"My fault," I said. "I had no choice. I had to let Tyson cross the boundary line to save you. Otherwise, you would've died."

Plus, the Cyclops was growing on me, but I didn't say that aloud.

"_Let _him cross the boundary line?" Percy asked. "But—"

"Percy," I cut him off. "have you ever looked at Tyson closely? I mean… in the face. Ignore the Mist, and_ really_ look at him."

Percy, looking skeptical, turned back to Tyson. He stared at him, looking as if he was struggling a bit. And then his eyes widened.

"Tyson," He stammered. "You're a…"

"Cyclops," I confirmed. "A baby, by the looks of it. Probably why he couldn't get past the boundary line as easily as the bulls. Tyson's one of the homeless orphans."

"One of the what?"

"They're in almost all the big cities," I said sourly, once again blocking my mind against a memory that was all too sharp. "They're… mistakes, Percy. Children of nature spirits and gods… Well, one god in particular, actually…" I threw a quick, uneasy glance at Percy to see if he knew what I was talking about. Once again, though, his ignorance to mythology blinded him from the very possible truth. I hurried on, hoping he hadn't noticed my brief lapse in speech. "and they don't always come out right. They grow up wild on the streets. I don't know how this one found you, but he obviously likes you. We should take him to Chiron. Let him figure out what to do."

"But the fire. How—"

"He's a Cyclops." I paused as the memory I'd been trying to repress hit me full in the face. I quickly shook out of it, knowing that I'd probably be having nightmares about it tonight. "They work at the forges of the gods. They _have_ to be immune to fire. That's what I was trying to tell you."

Percy looked shell-shocked as he continued to study Tyson in a new light.

I looked at the hill around me. The whole side of the hill was in flames, and wounded soldiers were groaning on the ground. And then there were the bulls that I had no idea what to do with.

Clarisse came back over. "Jackson, if you can stand, get up. We need to carry the wounded back to the Big House, let Tantalus know what's happened."

"Tantalus?" Percy asked.

"The activities director," Clarisse said impatiently.

"Chiron is the activities director. And where's Argus? He's head of security, he should be there."

Clarisse made a sour face. "Argus got fired. You two have been gone too long. Things are changing."

"But Chiron… he's trained kids to fight monsters for over three thousand years. He can't just be _gone_. What happened?"

"_That_ happened," Clarisse snapped, pointing to Thalia's tree.

I looked over, and got the same sensation in my stomach that one would get if they swallowed a hundred pound weight. A cold, jagged sliver of ice ran through my heart at the sight I saw.

The tree that had served as a capsule for Thalia's soul was no longer the thriving, healthy tree I was used to seeing, with its luscious greenery and rough bark. I barely recognized the thing that stood in its place.

The branches were cracked and the needles were sparse and a sickly yellow. A pile of dead ones littered the base of the trunk. It seemed to have shriveled up a bit, and the bark that was once so tough was now dishearteningly brittle. But the thing that hit me the hardest was the bullet-size puncture mark in the middle of the trunk, slowly oozing green sap.

I wanted to crumple to the ground. My heart was breaking; Thalia, the bravest girl I'd ever met, the hero who went down in battle to protect her friends, the girl whose spirit was protected inside that frail tree, was dying.

Again.

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><p><strong>This chapter was pretty short - sorry about that! I'll try to make the next chapter longer, and get it up sooner. :)<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

* * *

><p>Camp Half-Blood had never felt so unlike home.<p>

For years, this had been my home, my place of refuge. It was nothing short of a haven. I'd escaped my father's impending disappointment; I'd earned a reputation and respect. I'd found a place I was wanted,_ needed_ even.

But as I looked down onto the valley of Camp Half-Blood, it looked less like a camp and more like a prison. Though many aspects were still the same—the glimmering strawberry fields, the white-columned marble Greek buildings scattered around the valley, the sound of clanking swords rising up from the amphitheatre—the grass all through the valley had turned a color similar to that of Thalia's needles: a yellow that warned of death. The forest no longer offered the protection and beauty of the lush green trees; instead they slowly deteriorating. No doubt it would soon be reduced to the same state as Thalia's pine. The newly-acquired burn marks littering the hill seemed to stand out, and I doubted they would heal soon, if at all.

But it wasn't just physically that the camp had changed. The air had turned to one of anxious anticipation, of danger. They volleyball sand pit lay empty, and the counselors and satyrs were stockpiling weapons in the tool shed. The smoke from the armory seemed thicker, as if the Hephaestus kids were busy making new weapons. Dryads stood at the fringe of the dying forest, talking nervously to one another with bows slung across their backs.

I immediately made off for the Big House, hoping Chiron was still there. Clarisse had said he'd been fired, but I refused to believe it—Chiron, the best mentor of demigods there had ever been, could not be leaving his job. He just couldn't.

Percy and Tyson tailed me, and their voices drifted forward to me even though I had no desire to hear their conversation.

"Whasthat!" Tyson's gleeful voice sounded oddly like a child's on Christmas morning as he strolled through the valley.

"The stables for the Pegasi," I heard Percy explain. "The winged horses."

"Whasthat!"

"Um… those are the toilets."

"Whasthat!"

I tried to tune them out. I didn't want to hear the Cyclops fawn over the dying camp. I just wanted to see Chiron, and hear him tell me the impossible: that he wasn't leaving, that the camp wasn't dying…

The grass crunched sickeningly under my feet. I winced; every step felt like I was contributing to the murder of the camp. Somehow I felt like this was my fault, though I knew that was a lie. But that dream haunted me, and that monster seemed to be staring at me, baring his fangs in laughter, about to sink them into the bark of Thalia's spirit…

And then something hit me. How had the monster been able to get within the borders? The only way was for someone to summon the beast… unless the borders were already failing? But no, that didn't make sense. The borders wouldn't weaken by themselves. Was Kronos strong enough to place a monster within the camp already?

No. That was impossible. Someone had summoned it. Maybe Luke had come by, gotten inside the borders, and allowed the beast inside? It would be easy—after all, he was still a demigod. It wasn't like we could ban him. But still, the idea of Luke coming back to the place where it all began, just to poison the person that had made his safety possible was revolting. I forced myself to not think about it, and instead a slight discomfort settled in the pit of my stomach.

Finally, the Big House loomed just in front of us. It was just as I remembered, with its white walls and blue gabled roof and wooden wraparound porch. The old card table was still there, though it looked abandoned. I stomped up the steps and through the door, heading straight for the place I thought it was most likely Chiron would be—his apartment.

Sure enough, I was right. The centaur I'd practically grown up with was packing his saddlebags to leave the one place I'd known as long as him. His white tail flicked absently as sixties music floated through the apartment.

The sight made me want to cry. He really was leaving. I wanted to run forward and hug him, tell him about my dream, ask him what it meant because if anyone would know, he would.

But instead, Tyson had to ruin the moment by saying, as if in total rapture, "Pony!"

Chiron turned, looking offended. "I beg your pardon?"

I did my best to ignore the slightly awkward tint to the air that Tyson had created and ran to hug my mentor. "Chiron, what's happening? You're not… leaving?" My voice was shaky. Chiron was nothing short of a second father to me, taking me under his wing when my own had been so faulty.

He just smiled kindly and ruffled my hair. "Hello, child. And Percy, my goodness. You've grown over the year!"

"Clarisse said you were… you were…" Percy stammered, forgoing any type of welcome.

"Fired." Chiron's eyes glinted with a type of dark humor. "Ah, well, someone had to take the blame. Lord Zeus was most upset. The tree he'd created from the spirit of his daughter, poisoned! Mr. D had to punish someone."

"Besides himself, you mean." Percy growled. Percy hadn't struck up the best of relationships with the wine god this past year. Quite the opposite, really.

"But this is crazy!" I cried. "Chiron, you couldn't have had anything to do with the poisoning of Thalia's tree!"

Chiron simply sighed. "Nevertheless, some in Olympus do not trust me now, under the circumstances."

"What circumstances?" Percy asked.

Chiron didn't answer, his face darkening. I stared at him, and then suddenly something clicked. Kronos had sired eight children—Hades, Poseidon, Zeus, Demeter, Hestia, Hera, Philyra… and Chiron. Of course, with Kronos rising, people would believe that he was in cahoots with his father, the Titan lord.

And suddenly I was angry. Anyone who had doubts about Chiron—the centaur who had spent his life helping heroes—didn't have the right sense of thought. Chiron would never do anything to help the immortal who was threatening civilization.

The grim silence stretched on, broken only when Tyson burst out, "Pony?"

Chiron sniffed indignantly. "My dear young Cyclops! I am a _centaur_."

"Chiron," Percy said. "What about the tree? What happened?"

I almost opened my mouth to tell about my dream, but I realized it would be of no use. Just because the monster was known didn't change the fact that Thalia's pine was dying.

Chiron shook his head sadly. "The poison used on Thalia's pine is something from the Underworld, Percy. Some venom even I have never seen. It must have come from a monster quite deep in the pits of Tartarus."

"Then we know who's responsible. Kro—"

"Do not invoke the titan lord's name, Percy. Especially not here, not now."

"But last summer he tried to cause a civil war in Olympus! This _has _to be his idea. He'd get Luke to do it, the traitor."

The use of Luke's name made me wince just a little. I really needed to get over him; Percy was right. He was a traitor.

"Perhaps," Chiron said. "But I fear I am being held responsible because I did not prevent it and I cannot cure it. The tree has only a few weeks of life left unless…"

"Unless what?" I asked.

"No," Chiron said. "A foolish thought. The whole valley is feeling the shock of the poison. The magical borders are deteriorating. The camp itself is dying. Only one source of magic would be strong enough to reverse the poison, and it was lost centuries ago."

"What is it?" Percy asked. "We'll go find it!"

Chiron closed his saddlebag and pressed the stop button to the boombox, and the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra stopped oozing out of the speakers. The room fell silent at once. He turned and rested his hand on Percy's shoulder, looking him straight in the eye. "Percy, you must promise me that you will_ not_ act rashly. I told your mother I did not want you to come here at all this summer. It's much too dangerous. But now that you are here, stay here. Train hard. Learn to fight. But do not leave."

"Why?" He asked. "I want to do something! I can't just let the borders fail. The whole camp will be—"

"Overrun by monsters," Chiron finished. "Yes, I fear so. But you must not let yourself be baited into hasty action! This could be a trap of the titan lord. Remember last summer! He almost took your life."

A sudden memory of a deep fissure, black as a midnight, bottomless as Earth itself, loomed in front of me, and a cold chanting filled my head. Kronos was rising, I was sure of it, and weakening the only safe place for demigods was just the first step of it. I wouldn't let it happen. I refused to.

I was trying not to cry. Everything was changing: Thalia was fading, Chiron was leaving, Grover might be in trouble, and Luke had betrayed me… my eyes burned as the weight of all this crashed down on me at that moment, and all I wanted to do was reverse the damage.

Chiron brushed a tear from my cheek with a reassuring finger. "Stay with Percy, child. Keep him safe. The prophecy—remember it!"

"I—I will."

"Um," Percy said. "Would this be the super-dangerous prophecy that has me in it, but the gods have forbidden you to tell me about?"

I remained silent, and so did Chiron.

"Right," he muttered. "Just checking."

"Chiron…" I said, as something had just occurred to me. "You told me the gods made you immortal only as long as you were needed to train heroes. If they dismiss you from camp—"

"Swear you will do your best to keep Percy from danger," he insisted. "Swear upon the River Styx."

"I—" I looked at him. Chiron already seemed grayer. I realized that he was counting on me to do this, to protect Percy. It was crucial to the prophecy. "I swear upon the River Styx."

Thunder rumbled outside, binding me to my promise.

"Very well," Chiron said. He seemed to relax, just slightly. "Perhaps my name will be cleared and I shall return. Until then, I will go visit my wild kinsmen in the Everglades. It's possible they know of some cure for the poisoned tree that I have forgotten. In any event, I will stay in exile until this matter is resolved… one way or another."

I stifled a sob. Chiron, the person who'd been more of a father figure than my own dad, was leaving me. Chiron patted my shoulder a bit awkwardly. "There, now, child. I must entrust your safety to Mr. D and the new activities director. We must hope… well, perhaps they won't destroy the camp as quickly as I fear."

"Who is this Tantalus guy, anyway?" Percy demanded. "Where does he get off taking your job?"

Before Chiron could answer, a conch horn echoed across the valley. The sound was familiar and oddly reassuring; at least one thing hadn't changed.

"Go," Chiron said. "You will meet him at the pavilion. I will contact your mother, Percy, and let her know you're safe. No doubt she'll be worried by now. Just remember my warning! You are in grave danger. Do not think for a moment that the titan lord has forgotten you!"

He clopped out of the room, his saddle bags strapped to his flank. And just like that, he was gone.

"Pony!" Tyson cried after him, looking seriously distraught. "Don't go!"

The tears started rolling freely. I couldn't hold them in. Chiron was gone. There was nothing I could do about it. A sudden hatred for the Fates flared up inside me. Where was the equilibrium, the fairness? Where were the counterintuitive good things?

Where was the balance?

* * *

><p>I stopped by my cabin before going to the pavilion. I passed off the excuse of having to clean up myself, but really I just needed a place to break down in private.<p>

I tried to prolong the inevitable tears by giving my cabin a sweeping look. It was just as I'd left it: my bed neatly made from last summer, my poster of the Pantheon hanging by my bunk. The cabin in whole was delightfully messy, with scrolls lying unraveled on the worktables, and books with dog-eared pages splayed out. Diagrams and war maps and tools of all kinds lay on the worktable.

I dropped my backpack on my bed and kneeled in front of my all-familiar trunk that held all my clothes. I'd left a fair supply of camp shirts and jeans from last summer, and I picked out an outfit at random. I deliberately kept my mind blank, refusing to think about anything but my present actions.

I quickly changed and paid a visit to the bathroom, running my hands through my hair in an attempt to untangle the knots. I picked up a washcloth and scrubbed at my face until it was almost painful, but continued on, hoping the slight pain would help me keep a grip on the tears already threatening to leak out.

It didn't work. As I looked at myself in the mirror, at what I'd become and what it took to get there, my eyes began to leak. I saw pain and confusion dominate my features because of Luke's betrayal, and heartache at the dying of Thalia. Worry washed over my eyes when I thought of Grover and his whereabouts, and even if he was still alive, and then guilt for not thinking about him sooner.

But underneath all that, I could see confidence and a type of fire—that had been my own doing. I had to remind myself that strength came after weakness, and that this would all turn out fine. Or at least hope that it would.

It took a couple more minutes to stop the flow of tears and revert from the odd gasping noise that had begun to come out of my mouth. But when I finally got a hold of myself, I wiped my eyes and, hoping it wasn't too outwardly obvious that I'd been crying, left the cabin.

The sun was hanging low in the sky as I rejoined Percy and Tyson at the pavilion. We stood in the shadow of a marble column, watching silently as the campers filed in. They all looked so different—no one was joking or laughing, and their shoulders practically sagged with the weight of the possibility of attack. I absently ran my fingers over my knife, because the familiar feeling of the smooth metal was the only thing keeping me from breaking down again.

I was still shaken up. I hadn't been camp for an hour, and Chiron had already left. But I put on a brave face as I watched my cabin file in; I was their counselor, after all. I'd have to put on a good show.

"I'll talk to you guys later," I said to Percy and Tyson, and trooped over to my table.

My siblings barely looked up as I sat down beside them. There were a dozen of us, and they all looked like me: blonde hair, grey eyes.

I was glad for the lack of attention; I was in no mood to talk. I watched absently as the cabins filed in: Clarisse led the Ares cabin, her arm in a sling and her cheek sporting a nasty gash. Hepheastus came next, led by Beckendorf, a fifteen-year-old African American kid that could make anything out of a simple hunk of metal. Demeter, Apollo, Aphrodite, and Dionysus followed. Naiads sauntered in from the canoe lake, and the satyrs clopped in from the meadow.

I had to look away from the satyrs, for they reminded me so much of Grover it hurt. Instead I focused on the Hermes cabin that was following them, led by Connor and Travis Stoll, who had taken Luke's place as co-counselors.

Once the camp had settled into their seats and a low layer of chatter spread over the pavilion, Percy and Tyson emerged from the pillar's shadow. I didn't even have to look up to know they'd entered the pavilion, for conversation faltered before stopping immediately at the sight of Tyson. Each one of my siblings' heads turned.

Percy looked extremely uncomfortable, and I couldn't blame him: every eye was on him, and the reason wasn't a good one. Tyson, the naïve monster, didn't seem to know what was going on.

"Who invited _that_?" Someone from the Apollo table murmured.

A whisper ran through the pavilion, seemingly wondering the same thing.

"Well, well, if it isn't Peter Johnson." A familiar voice drawled. "My millennium is complete."

I turned my attention to the location of the voice and found the recognizable leopard-print-clad god sitting at the head table, lounging in his seat with a Diet Coke in his pudgy hand. He looked just like always: his belly strained against his Hawaiian shirt, and his face was red and blotchy. He had a sour expression on his face, like something unsightly had just appeared. Which, looking at Tyson, was probably the case.

Next to him, in the seat Chiron usually occupied, sat an unfamiliar person. I took him to be the new activities director. I tried not to act too prejudiced to this new face, but it was hard considering he'd taken over an innocent man's job.

His face was deathly pale and his cheeks were sunken. Shadows hung under his eyes, as if he hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep in a hundred years. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit, like he'd just been let out of prison, which hung off of his thin frame almost pathetically. His gray hair was disheveled and badly cut, as if his barber thought it preferable to use a weed whacker in place of actual scissors.

"_Percy Jackson_… sir." Percy said through gritted teeth.

Mr. D leisurely sipped his soda. "Yes. Well, as you young people say these days: _Whatever._"

The wine god turned to the prisoner. "This boy, you need to watch. Poseidon's child, you know."

"Ah, that one." the prisoner said it in such a tone that made it obvious they'd talked about Percy before.

"I am Tantalus," the prisoner announced. The name stirred a vague memory, but I couldn't put a hold on it. "On special assignment here until, well, until my Lord Dionysus decides otherwise. And you, Perseus Jackson, I _do_ expect you to refrain from causing any trouble."

"Trouble?" he demanded.

In response, Mr. D snapped his fingers. A newspaper materialized on the table. Even from this distance I could tell it was explaining the damage we caused with our latest expenditure with the cannibal giants, as the front page was plastered with Percy's photo. I didn't even want to know what the headline said.

"Yes, trouble," Tantalus said with cold satisfaction. "You caused plenty of it last summer, I understand."

Percy's face was slowly growing redder with restrained anger. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

It didn't matter that Percy had nothing to say, however, because the prisoner turned his attention away from him. Instead he fixed it on the satyr that was inching nervously to his side, setting down a plate of barbeque. Tantalus licked his lips, his eyes glinting with something that was equal parts nervous excitement and skepticism. "Root beer. Barq's special stock. Nineteen-sixty-seven."

As expected, the goblet filled itself with the foamy soda. The whole pavilion had gone quiet, wondering why this ordinary procedure was so amazing to Tantalus. The prisoner tentatively stretched out a hand, as if afraid the goblet was going to bite.

"Go on, then, old fellow," Dionysus said, an odd sparkle in his eye. "Perhaps now it will work."

Tantalus made to grab the glass, but it scooted away from him, as if pulled by a string. A few drops of soda spilled on the table, and he tried to mop them up with his fingers, but they rolled out of his reach before he could get close. He quickly abandoned that and made a wild grab for the brisket lying on his golden plate, but it, too, ran away, the meal skittering down the table and flying straight into the brazier, plate and all.

The odd image of Tantalus chasing his food jogged my memory, and suddenly I knew who he was—Tantalus, the old king that offended the gods by feeding them his own children, and in punishment he was never allowed to eat again in the Underworld.

_Why_ in the world had Zeus let a convicted child-killer to be co-in-charge of a summer camp? Sometimes I thought all that static electricity got to his brain, but I'd never say that to his face unless I wanted to have the same fate.

"Blast!" Tantalus muttered, staring solemnly at the fire where his food had jumped.

"Ah, well," Dionysus said, the sympathy in his voice not sounding at all genuine. "Perhaps a few more days. Believe me, old chap, working at this camp will be torture enough. I'm sure your old curse will fade eventually."

"Eventually," echoed Tantalus, now staring longingly at Mr. D's soda. "Do you have any idea how dry one's throat gets after three thousand years?"

"You're that spirit from the Fields of Punishment," Percy said, realization seizing him. "The one who stands in the lake with the fruit tree hanging over you, but you can't eat or drink."

Tantalus sneered. "A real scholar, aren't you, boy?"

"You must've done something really horrible when you were alive," Percy said, mildly impressed. "What was it?"

Tantalus's eyes narrowed dangerously. The satyrs behind him shook their heads forcefully, warning Percy not to say any more.

"I'll be watching you, Percy Jackson," Tantalus said coldly. "I don't want any problems at my camp."

I clenched my teeth a bit when he said _my camp_—this camp was his just as much as the sky was Hades's domain. He had no right to control it, or claim it as his… and yet I knew that I couldn't speak out about it, no matter how much I wanted to.

"_Your_ camp already has problems…sir." Percy said.

"Oh, go sit down, Johnson," Dionysus sighed. "I believe that table over there is yours—the one where no one else wants to sit."

Percy's jaw visibly clenched, and his face now more resembled a tomato than an actual face. "Come on, Tyson."

"Oh, no," Tantalus said. "The monster stays here. We must decide what to do with it."

"_Him_," Percy snapped. "His name is Tyson."

The activities director raised an eyebrow.

"Tyson saved the camp," Percy insisted. "He pounded those bulls. Otherwise they would've burned down this whole place."

"Yes," Tantalus sighed. "And _what_ a pity that would've been."

Dionysus snickered; I bet he was happy now that he had someone to share his hatred of the camp with, I thought with disgust.

"Leave us," Tantalus ordered, "while we decide this creature's fate."

Percy looked torn. I could see that he clearly didn't want to leave the gentle giant of a Cyclops with the two people who were most likely to degrade him, but he also couldn't defy an immortal's orders.

"I'll be right over here, big guy," he promised. "Don't worry. We'll find you a good place to sleep tonight."

Tyson nodded. "I believe you. You are my friend."

Percy turned away. He slumped over to the Poseidon table, alone. The pavilion was once again filled with curious chatter as everyone examined the Cyclops, who was twiddling his fingers nervously.

"Seriously," someone said at my table. "Who in their right mind would bring a Cyclops into the camp? As if we haven't got enough on our plate already."

"He isn't that bad," I said tiredly. "He's more of a teddy bear than a monster."

Everyone looked at me as if they'd only just noticed my presence.

"Well, you'd know, wouldn't you?" Michael said, a bit bitterly. "You let that monster into the camp, after all."

"How—" I began to say, and then I saw the burn mark on his cheek. He'd been fighting on the hill. "I had to; it was the only way to save Percy and Clarisse! Besides, I don't remember you complaining when _that monster_ saved you from a more serious injury than a simple burn."

He had the grace to look a little abashed.

I stood up from the table, not feeling in the mood to bicker. My plate in hand, I approached the brazier, scraping a bit of my food into the flames. "Athena, accept my offering." I mumbled half-heartedly.

Before returning to my seat, I snuck a glance at Percy sitting at his table alone. He looked miserable, picking at his pizza. I felt a twinge of sympathy.

I sat back down at my table with a sinking feeling that this summer was going to be far from enjoyable.

* * *

><p>"Yes, well," Tantalus spoke up after a conch horn blew through the pavilion. Chatter died down. "Another fine meal! Or so I am told." His hand inched forward to his refilled dinner plate, as if the food wouldn't notice his sneaking fingers, but it didn't work. It immediately shot down the length of the table as soon as he got close.<p>

"And here on my first day of authority," he continued, a slight tinge disappointment in his voice. "I'd like to say what a pleasant form of punishment it is to be here. Over the course of the summer, I hope to torture, er, interact with each and every one of you children. You all look good enough to eat."

I slightly shivered at that last statement, knowing there was much truth to it.

Dionysus clapped politely, and some of the satyrs followed suit half-heartedly. Everyone else was silent. Tyson was standing at the head table, looking highly uncomfortable, but every time he tried to scoot away, Tantalus pulled him back into the limelight.

"And now some changes!" Tantalus gave everyone a crooked smile. "We are reinstituting the chariot races!"

Murmuring broke out all around the pavilion, ranging from excitement, to disbelief, to fear. Even I let slip a skeptical squeak. The chariot races hadn't been performed since my second year here, when I was eight. The last race had been so messy and dangerous, they were ceased. And this quack wanted to _reinstitute_ them?

"Now I know," Tantalus continued, raising his voice above the incredulous chatter. "that these races were discontinued some years ago due to some, ah, technical problems."

"Three deaths and twenty-six mutilations," someone at the Apollo table called out.

"Yes, yes!" Tantalus said. "But I know that you will all join me in welcoming the return of this camp tradition. Golden laurels will go to the winning charioteers each month. Teams may register in the morning! The first race will be held in three days time. We will release you from most of your regular activities to prepare you chariots and choose your horses. Oh, and did I mention, the victorious team's cabin will have no chores for the month in which they win?"

Despite the explosion of excited conversation around me at the reward, I stayed silent. Call me a pessimist, but I saw no good from this. If we were released from all our regular activities, how would we train and keep out monsters now that our borders were failing? And, sure, the reward was pretty enticing, but that just meant that if my cabin lost, we'd have extra chores piled onto us to make up for the winning cabin. Besides, _three deaths_? This was dangerous.

I was about to open my mouth to object, but the last person I expected to beat me to it, did so.

"But, sir!" Clarisse said. She looked nervous, but stood tall anyway. "What about patrol duty? I mean, if we drop everything to ready our chariots—"

"Ah, the hero of the day," Tantalus exclaimed. "Brave Clarisse, who single-handedly bested the bronze bulls!"

Clarisse blinked, and then blushed. "Um, I didn't—"

"And modest, too." Tantalus grinned. "Not to worry, my dear! This is a summer camp. We are here to enjoy ourselves, yes?"

"But the tree—"

"And now," Tantalus cut across, as several of Clarisse's cabin mates pulled her back into her seat. "before we proceed to the camp fire and sing-along, one slight housekeeping issue. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase have seen fit, for some reason, to bring this here." Tantalus waved a hand toward Tyson.

Uneasy murmuring spread among the campers. Many people threw me sidelong glances. I clenched my teeth and stared straight ahead, pretending to ignore them.

"Now, of course," he said. "Cyclopes have a reputation for being bloodthirsty monsters with very little brain capacity. Under normal circumstances, I would release this beast into the woods and have you hunt it down with torches and pointed sticks." At this, Tyson looked extremely uneasy. "But who knows? Perhaps this Cyclops is not as horrible as most of its brethren. Until it proves worthy of destruction, we need a place to keep it! I've thought about the stables, but that will make the horses nervous. Hermes's cabin, possibly?"

Silence. The Stoll brothers stared at the table cloth, anywhere but Tantalus's eyes. I couldn't blame them for not wanting another camper; the cabin was almost bursting with people as is, and there would be no way they could squeeze in a six-foot-three Cyclops.

"Come now," Tantalus chided. "The monsters may be able to do some menial chores. Any suggestions as to where such a beast should be kenneled?"

The dragged-on silence was suddenly interrupted. There was a communal gasp from everyone in the pavilion, and even I was caught off guard by what I saw.

Above Tyson's head I saw, with a sudden sense of déjà vu, the same twirling image that had appeared above Percy just last year: A glowing trident, basking everyone within a three-meter radius in a sea-green light. It was almost hypnotic, seeing such a magnificent thing above someone so unsightly. But that wasn't the only thing drawing me to stare at it; it was what it meant that rendered me unable to look away.

Tyson was now claimed as Percy's brother.

It's not like I hadn't suspected, of course. It had been in the back of mind the moment I saw the Cyclops with Percy. The claiming was just so sudden that it shocked me.

I glanced at Percy; he was pale and his eyes looked like saucers. I felt sorry for him; he'd just realized today that his friend of a year was a Cyclops, and now it was being thrust upon his that that Cyclops was his brother.

After a brief moment of awed silence, the pavilion erupted with laughter, led, of course, by Tantalus. I glared at any of my cabin mates that laughed, and some of them sputtered under my harsh gaze, but most ignored me.

"Well!" Tantalus roared. "I think we know where to put the beast now. By the gods, I can see the family resemblance!"

The pavilion laughed again, but I didn't find it funny. Couldn't Tantalus see that this was hard for Percy?

Tyson didn't seem to realize that all this laughter was directed at him. He was too naïve, too innocent.

He just stood, mystified, trying to swat the fading trident above his head.

* * *

><p><strong>Just one thing I want to put out there- the monster Annabeth saw in her dream is a basilisk. And, no, the basilisk is not exclusive to the Harry Potter world, as some of you probably think. It's a Greek monster that, as is stated in The Chamber of Secrets, kills with a single look and falls at the crow of the rooster. I chose it because, yes, I admit I'm an avid HP fan, but also because its venom has no cure and it has never been killed in the Greek myths, at least as far as Google tells me.<strong>

**Well, got that out of the way.**

** Review?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

* * *

><p>I'd like to say Percy took the news well.<p>

But I hate lying.

The next few days he sulked around camp with Tyson in his shadow, being bombarded with insults and snide remarks about the Cyclops. He tried to deflect them with protests of "He's not my _real_ brother! He's more of a half-brother on the monstrous side of the family!" But nobody seemed to listen.

I, however, couldn't spend my days whining. Of course I felt bad for Percy—I'd probably be acting the same way if I was in his position—but Thalia's dying tree was a more pressing matter, one much more serious than a little family drama. Every day we prolonged finding a cure was a day we were weakened for attack.

In addition to the camp's problem, I kept thinking about Luke, even though I hated it. His blond hair and scarred face seemed to jump out at me at the most random moments—when I was taking a sip of soda at lunch, when one of my brothers passed me, when my sword made a practically loud clang against another's. He was driving me crazy, and it didn't help that complicated emotions were still tied to his name. I hated to admit it, but I knew I could never leave him behind. I'd spent most of my life having him just minutes away, and my brain couldn't wrap itself around his betrayal. Sometimes I would just become so angry at Luke, and others I would have tears in my eyes.

Sometimes all I needed was a break. And that necessity found me sitting, cross-legged, on my bunk with an old leather-bound book in my lap a night after Tyson's claiming. It was open to random page someone had dog-eared, an old story about the three Gorgons.

I scanned through the story aimlessly, not really taking in the words. It was a story I was familiar with, so it didn't interest me much. I looked lazily at an intricately drawn picture of the three sisters before flipping the page. I was about to skip the next story as well, but a glint of gold caught my eye.

I picked up the book and brought it closer to my face so I could see the picture that had captured my attention. It was a drawing of a goat with golden fur. I recognized it, of course: It was the Golden Fleece, a magical ram's skin that could cure anything—

Against my will, the book slipped out of my hands, flipping over the side of the bed and dropping to the floor. The dull thud made several of my cabin mates look up. That accomplished, warm feeling I got when I figured out a particularly hard puzzle buzzed through me as the obvious answer to the camp's failing boundaries bounced around in my head.

The Golden Fleece! It was perfect—the Fleece could heal anything, from an evasive virus or gruesome injury, to even a dying landscape. That must have been what Chiron meant when he said _"The tree has only a few weeks of life left unless…"_

Something the Gray Sisters had said to Percy tugged at the back of my mind—something like, _"We know the location of the thing you seek."_ They _were _supposed to be wise—what if they knew what we needed before we knew it ourselves? Besides, they mentioned Jason, who had been told by the Gray Sisters themselves how to find the Fleece…

But then, just as soon as it had come, the thrill that had coursed though me was replaced with dull reality. The Fleece had been lost to mankind for years… What else had Chiron said? _"Only one source of magic would be strong enough to reverse the poison, and it was lost centuries ago."_

_Centuries…_ I was being foolish. Too many heroes had embarked on a quest to find the fabled Fleece, and they all turned up empty handed, if they didn't die on the journey. What hope did I have at finding it?

I shook my head dejectedly and leaned over to pick up the book. If I had any hopes of finding the Fleece, I was being overly optimistic. It was lost. Of course, last summer we'd tracked down a missing lightning bolt, but that was different. We had clues, leads. With the Fleece, all we knew was that it was missing.

I frowned as I placed the book gently on the foot of my bed, the page still open to the drawing of the sparkling pelt.

* * *

><p>"So I'm thinking the front of the chariot should be like this, so it's more aerodynamic…" I mused. My pencil flew across the paper, quickly coming up with a crude design.<p>

"But wouldn't that just make it more flimsy?" Percy said, scrutinizing my work.

Percy and I were sitting by the canoe lake with a pad of paper and a lot of broken pencils. It'd been a couple days since Tyson had been welcomed—however reluctantly by Percy—into the Poseidon cabin. We'd decided that, since we couldn't find a way to save the camp, we might as well partake in the chariot races. Besides, my mother had invented the chariot and Percy's dad had crafted horses—with those combined advantages on our side, it'd be hard to beat us.

I turned the paper with my design on it toward me and squinted at it. "No, it would be able to take the track. Because with this curve here—"

"Hey, Percy." Someone said behind us. I turned around to find a giggling duo that I recognized from the Aphrodite cabin. "Would you like to borrow some eyeliner for your eye? Oh sorry, _eyes_."

They ambled away, laughing. Percy looked irritated.

"Just ignore them, Percy." I grumbled. "It isn't your fault you have a monster for a brother."

"He's _not_ my brother!" Percy snapped, turning on me. "And he's not a monster, either!"

I raised my eyebrows at him. Why was he getting angry at me? I had done nothing more than try to make him feel better. "Hey, don't get mad at me. And technically, he _is_ a monster."

"Well _you_ gave him permission to enter the camp."

I couldn't believe he was tuning this all on me. Did he think I _wanted _to have a Cyclops in my vicinity? "Because it was the only way to save your life! I mean… I'm sorry Percy, but I didn't expect Poseidon to claim him. Cyclopes are the most deceitful, treacherous—"

"He is not! What do you have against Cyclopes, anyway?"

I stiffened visibly. I did not need my bad memories of Cyclopes plaguing me along with my worries about Grover and the camp. I tried to change the subject. "Just forget it. Now, the axle for this chariot—"

"You're treating him like he's some kind of horrible thing. He saved my life."

Now my temper was rising. Why was he pushing me on this? Didn't he see that I didn't want to talk about it?

I threw down my pencil in exasperation and stood. "Then maybe you should design the chariot with _him_."

"Maybe I should!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

With a huff of disbelief and irritation, I stormed off. I probably shouldn't have given in to Percy's snappy remarks, but it made me so angry to see him there, just whining about having a Cyclops half-brother. Did he think the world revolved around him? The camp was _dying_, and all Percy could do was brood about his own petty problems.

I continued to huff about Percy, cutting through the pavilion to get to my cabin quicker. But my upsurge in anger was brief, and by the time I made it to my cabin, I wished I could take back all I said and sit back down with Percy on the shore of the canoe lake.

But my pride kept me walking away, straight up to Malcolm to discuss our chariot plans.

* * *

><p>The next couple days, I tried to keep my mind on minute things, like my swordsmanship or the construction of my cabin's chariot; anything but the camp, or Luke, or Grover. And definitely not Percy.<p>

But I found I had a lot more free time then I'd like, and that left lots of time to think.

This particular evening I sat on Half-Blood Hill, leaning back onto Thalia's dying tree as I watched the sun set over the Long Island Sound. I fingered the brown grass that surrounded the pine, trying to fight the sadness eating away at me. I'd gotten a little better about Thalia's pine dying, but it was still _dying_. I wished intensely that there was something I could do.

Against my will, I thought of Luke. I remembered how we used to come up here together and just sit in the shade of our best friend, talking about old times and new. I missed those days, but I knew I would never get them back.

And then an image of Percy, a horrible shade of green, leaning on two dryads as he limped out of the forest, replaced Luke's scarred face. I could still see the horrible wound protruding from his hand, the pain sapping his strength, like it was yesterday. Luke had done that.

I had to stop with these fluctuating emotions—the anger, the sadness. It was too much.

I focused on the sunset painting the sky many shades of red, refusing to let my mind wander. Eventually, long after the beautiful colors began to dull, I heard the conch horn that signified curfew. With a light sigh, I got up from my place between two protruding roots and made my way down the hill.

* * *

><p>Soon, the day of the race came. It was hot and uncomfortably humid, with fog hugging the ground like sauna steam. Not perfect conditions for a race, but it would have to do.<p>

I noticed there were pigeons sitting high up in the trees, facing the newly-plowed track, as if they were spectators. When they cawed, they sounded unlike regular pigeons, and what came out of their beaks was more of a metallic squeal.

I turned back to my chariot, checking it for any sign of damage or weakness. Not that it would have any, as it had been sitting safely in the Athena cabin's Armory this whole week. The chariot was painted a silvery gray color, with an owl on each side. It was sleek and fast, designed for speed. I'd built a place to keep our weapons—a couple javelins and a spear—secure during the bumpy ride inside the cockpit.

I turned to Miles, whom I'd chosen as my partner on the chariot, to discuss our plan. He was the best fighter, next to me, and he was wicked with a javelin. I'd be driving the chariot while he fended off approaching teams.

"Right!" Tantalus's voice boomed as I climbed onto the chariot. "You all know the rules. A quarter-mile track. Twice around to win. Two horses per chariot. Each team will consist of a driver and a fighter. Weapons are allowed. Dirty tricks are expected. But try not to kill anybody!" Tantalus smiled wickedly, like he didn't really mean it. "Any killing will result in harsh punishment! No s'mores at the campfire for a week! Now ready your chariots!"

The various teams' chariots made their way onto the track. Beckendorf came first, leading a bronze-and-iron chariot pulled by horses that seemed to be metal automatons, not unlike the bulls we'd defeated on Half-Blood hill. I was wary of it; being the Hephaestus cabin, I was sure the chariot had all kinds of nasty tricks.

The Ares chariot came next. It was bloodred and pulled by two grisly-looking skeleton horses. Clarisse climbed onboard, armed with what looked like the whole Weaponry. Javelins, spiked balls, and caltrops were just the beginning of what looked like a scary assortment of weapons.

The Apollo cabin's chariot looked nicer, with its solid gold exterior and beautiful palomino horses. The fighter had a bow slung across his back, but he'd promised not to shoot regular pointed arrows.

Hermes's chariot was nothing spectacular. It was a solid green and looked rather beaten up and old, like they'd dug up the original Hermes chariot from years ago. But the Stoll brothers were at the reins, and I knew they'd schemed up some dirty tricks.

Miles and I went out next, and Percy followed in his chariot. It was blue and white, decorated with wave designs. A large trident was plastered on the front. Tyson was by his side, armed with a large pole.

I was checking my reins one last time when Percy approached, asking to talk. I hopped down from my chariot, wondering if he was going to apologize.

"What, Percy?" I said, crossing my arms. I wasn't really mad at him anymore, but he didn't need to know that.

"I had a dream last night…" he began. I was about to ask what was so special about that, when he added, "About Grover."

I perked up, forgetting about me supposed to be angry. "Is he okay?"

"Not exactly… He was in a cave when I saw him. He said he's stuck in the Sea of Monsters. He's being held captive by a giant Cyclops called, uh, Polyfemo—Polymus—"

"Polyphemus?" I suggested.

"Yeah, that. Polyfeem—er, the Cyclops thinks Grover a lady Cyclops, and wants to marry him." I raised my eyebrow. "He's stalling as much as he can, but time's running out."

"Wait, wait. How did Grover end up in the Sea of Monsters, in _Polyphemus's lair_, of all places?"

"He said he was following a lead to find Pan, but it led him there instead. Said there was so much nature magic coming from that island that he thought he'd found Pan."

"And a regular dream just told you all this?"

"Well, no. Grover said he made an empathy link between us, or something."

I looked at Percy. He seemed to be telling the truth, but I wasn't sure I believed it. The story was so outlandish—I mean, Grover getting captured by Polyphemus, and stumbling upon something that emanated so much nature magic, it imitated the nature god's powers themselves? There was only one thing that could have the power to do that, and that was the Golden Fleece. But really, Grover finding the Golden Fleece? It didn't add up. And, on top of it all, an empathy link was some seriously advanced magic. I wasn't sure if Grover could even make one.

"You're trying to distract me," I accused.

"What? No I'm not!"

"Oh, right! Like Grover would just happen to stumble across the _one_ thing that could save the camp."

"What do you mean?"

I rolled my eyes. "Go back to your chariot, Percy."

"I'm not making this up. He's in trouble, Annabeth."

Percy looked dead serious, and that scared me. I'd known Grover a long time, and I would never want anything to happen to him. Part of me didn't want to believe him—I mean, who wants to accept that their friend is in danger?—but I could tell Percy wasn't acting.

"Percy, an empathy link is hard to do. I mean, it's more likely that you were just dreaming."

"The Oracle," Percy said. "We could consult the Oracle."

I frowned. Percy had a serious aversion to the crippled mummy sitting in the Big House attic. Last summer, he'd even admitted to having nightmares about his one encounter with the Oracle for a week straight. I knew he'd never suggest going back if he wasn't serious.

I studied him. I was about to open my mouth to say that I _just might_ believe him, when the conch horns sounded.

"Charioteers! To your mark!" Tantalus called.

"We'll talk later," I said, adding, "_after_ I win."

I climbed back in to my chariot and gripped the reins. A loud squeal coming from the direction of the forest startled me. I looked up and saw that more pigeons had congregated, all screeching manically. I noticed that their beaks had a strange glint to them when the sun hit them and their eyes had an irregular shine. They made me uneasy, but I turned away, unwilling to let anything distract me.

I maneuvered the chariot to the starting line, waiting for the signal to go. I looked over at Percy, who seemed to be explaining things to Tyson. Could he be telling the truth about Grover and the Fleece? It seemed far-fetched, but wasn't everything in mythology hard to believe?

"Charioteers!" Tantalus yelled. The pigeons' screeching had grown louder, and he had to shout over the noise. "Attend your mark!"

The starting signal dropped, and I took off. We left the other chariots in our dust as our horses' hooves pounded around the track. I heard a loud crack, and risked a glance behind just in time to see the golden Apollo chariot flip over. It seemed like the Hermes's cabin had rammed into it—I could tell by the Stoll brothers' gleeful expressions. The Apollo riders were thrown free, but their panicked horses continued to drag the chariot diagonally across the track. Travis and Connor Stoll were too busy laughing to see the oncoming runaway chariot, and before they knew it, the horses had crashed into them and they flipped too, leaving a pile of splintered wood and four rearing horses.

I turned away from the two chariots and continued to steer. With two chariots down already, our chances of winning increased. We were in the lead, with nobody on our tail. The wind whipped through my hair and we rode over a bump, momentarily making me lose my balance. I allowed a small smile to peak through, though; chariot riding was the best rush there was.

We were approaching our first turn, and I pulled hard on the reins, making a tight turn around the post. I heard Miles taunting the other chariots. Our wheels creaked and our wooden cockpit groaned, but I kept on riding. If I could keep our spot in the lead, the win would be ours.

I saw Percy's chariot overtake the Ares cabin's. He was getting closer to us. I pulled urgently on the reins; we needed more speed.

I could see the pigeons more clearly now that I was on the other side of the track. They seemed to have risen from their perch in the trees, and formed a large black cloud. They were approaching the track.

I turned back to the race. _They're just birds,_ I tried to convince myself.

Percy's chariot was gaining. They were only ten feet behind us.

"Take care of him!" I shouted to Miles. He picked out a javelin and faced backwards, taking aim. That's when I heard the screaming.

I looked back to the stands, and I couldn't believe what I saw.

The pigeons were attacking the spectators, covering the whole stand with a think curtain of feather and beak. Everyone was screeching almost as loud as the birds.

I momentarily forgot about the race as I watched in horror.

Beckendorf was getting mobbed. He was trying to fend away the birds but it was no use: They swarmed around him like bees, impairing his vision. The chariot veered off course, tearing through the strawberry fields.

The Ares chariot looked only slightly better off. Clarisse had barked an order to her fighter, who threw a net over their basket. The birds horded around it, pecking and clawing at the fighter's hands as he tried to hold it up. The skeletal horses didn't seem to be affected by the birds' beaks; the pigeons pecked vainly at the empty eye sockets and flew through their ribcages, but the horses kept on running.

The spectators were having a harder time. The birds were diving into the crowd, slicing any bit of exposed flesh they could find. Now that the birds were closer, I could tell they weren't normal pigeons. Their eyes were shiny like pearls, and gleamed with malice. Their beaks were bronze, and by the way the campers screamed, I suspected they were also razor sharp.

I slowed down my chariot to ride alongside Percy. "Stymphalian birds!" I yelled. "They'll strip everyone to bones if we don't drive them away!"

"Tyson, we're turning around." Percy said to his fighter.

"Going the wrong way?" Tyson asked.

I steered the chariot to the stands, drawing my knife. Percy rode next to me, Riptide in one hand and his reins in the other.

"Heroes, to arms!" I shouted, but I doubted anyone could hear me over the chaos.

The birds were attacking us, now that we were closer to the stands. I tried to fend them off with my dagger, but every time I reached out to slice one, ten others pecked at my exposed arms. They dived at me, snapping their beaks. A couple bit me on my back, but with a wave of my dagger they exploded into a mess of dust and feathers.

Miles seemed to be having a tough time. The birds were viscously pecking him as well, and a javelin wasn't the best weapon to fend off mechanical birds with.

I saw that some people in the stands were trying to fight back. My siblings were calling for shields, and the Apollo cabin were armed with their bows. But there were too many campers mixed in with the birds to get a clear shot.

"Too many!" Percy yelled to me. "How do we get rid of them?"

I stabbed a pigeon with my knife. "Hercules used noise! Brass bells! He scared them away with the most horrible sound he could—"

My eyes got wide. "Percy… Chiron's collection!"

"You think it'll work?"

I handed the reins to Miles and leapt into Percy's chariot with ease. "To the Big House! It's our only chance!"

Clarisse had just crossed the finish line, completely unopposed, and seemed to finally notice the severity of the giant black cloud of birds dive-bombing the stands. When she saw us driving away, she yelled, "You're _running_? The fight is here, cowards!" She drew her sword and charged the massive black cloud.

The horses galloped swiftly, rumbling the chariot through the strawberry fields and the volleyball sandpit. We lurched to a stop in front of the Big House.

We ran inside and tore down the halls, stopping inside Chiron's old apartment. I tried to ignore how empty it was as I grabbed the boombox and Percy snatched up an old album. We ran outside, hopped back on the chariot and made way to the track.

The birds were still terrorizing everything in sight. The campers were wounded, trying to get away from the birds that were pulling their hair and shredding their clothes. The birds were even attacking the chariots, which all lay in a mess of wood and feathers.

When we pulled up to the finish line, I took the CD from Percy and popped it into the boombox. I prayed it wasn't broken. Percy pressed PLAY.

Suddenly the air was overflowing with the sound of violins and guys moaning in Italian. It was truly horrible, and the mechanical pigeons seemed to think so too. They went crazy, forgetting about the campers and instead flying in circles, ramming their heads into each other. They flew skyward, trying to get away.

"Now!" I shouted. "Archers!"

The Apollo archers had flawless aim. They were able to nock five or six arrows at once, and the birds rained down. Soon the track was littered with the bronze-beaked demons, the survivors a distant cloud on the horizon.

I looked around. The whole camp was a mess: The chariots were ruined, even mine, the one I'd worked so hard on. The campers were bleeding, wounded from the birds' razor sharp beaks. The Aphrodite kids were whining that their hair had been messed up and their clothes tattered.

"Bravo!" Tantalus said, but he wasn't looking at us. "We have our first winner!"

I watched in outraged amazement as he walked over to a stunned-looking Clarisse and awarded her a golden laurel.

Then he turned back to us. Our indignation must've shown on our faces, because Tantalus smiled evilly. "Now to punish the troublemakers who disrupted this race."

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter was a bit rushed; sorry about that. I had literally no time at all to write this week. Hope you enjoyed it though :)<strong>

**Review? **


	8. Chapter 8

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

* * *

><p>"Tantalus—is—infuriating!" I seethed, wiping a line of sweat off my brow.<p>

Percy, Tyson, and I were in the underground kitchens, serving our punishment that Tantalus had given us. According to him, the whole fiasco with the Stymphalian birds was our fault, because we'd baited the demon birds into attack with our awful chariot driving. So he'd sent us down here to wash pots and pans with the cleaning harpies, who were less than hospitable. And, to top it off, the harpies used lava instead of soap and water, forcing Percy and me to wear asbestos gloves and aprons.

Tyson, however, had no problem with the lava. He just plunged right in, the scorching magma seeming to affect him as much as lukewarm water would've. But, as I was not part Cyclops, I had to suffer through hours of hot and dangerous work.

Percy stood beside me, scrubbing away intently at a plate. He looked distracted.

I thought about what he'd told me before the chariot race, how Grover had been captured. Could it be true?

"Percy, can you tell me your dream again?" I asked, my brow furrowed. I had to hear it one more time.

He looked at me, a little hopefully, and delved in to his dream. I listened intently; it all added up, and I was sure a seaweed brain like Percy couldn't make up something like that. After he finished, I rolled his words over again in my head, the possibility of the Golden Fleece overwhelming me.

"If he's really found it," I murmured. "and if we could retrieve it—"

"Hold on," Percy interrupted. "You act like this… whatever-it-is Grover found is the only thing in the world that could save this camp. What_ is_ it?"

"I'll give you hint. What do you get when you skin a ram?"

"Messy?"

I rolled my eyes, sighing. No, he definitely hadn't made up his dream. "A fleece. The coat of a ram is called a fleece. And if that ram happens to have golden wool—"

"The Golden Fleece. Are you serious?"

I scrapped bones off of my plate and into the lava, watching them sizzle as they came in contact with it. "Percy, remember the Gray Sisters? They said they know the location of the thing you seek. And they mentioned Jason. Three thousand years ago, they told _him_ how to find the Golden Fleece. You _do_ know the story of Jason and the Argonauts?"

"Yeah," he said. "That old movie with the clay skeletons."

"Oh my gods, Percy!" I said, rolling my eyes. "You are so hopeless."

_"What?"_ he demanded.

"Just listen. The real story of the Fleece: there were these two children of Zeus, Cadmus and Europa, okay? They were about to get offered up as human sacrifices, when they prayed to Zeus to save them. So Zeus sent this magical flying ram with golden wool, which picked them up in Greece and carried them all the way to Colchis in Asia Minor. Well, actually, it carried Cadmus. Europa fell off and died along the way, but that's not important."

"It was probably important to her."

"The point _is_, when Cadmus got to Colchis, he sacrificed the golden ram to the gods and hung the Fleece in a tree in the middle of the kingdom. The Fleece brought prosperity to the land. Animals stopped getting sick. Plants grew better. Farmers had bumper crops. Plagues never visited. That's why Jason wanted the Fleece. It can revitalize any land where it's placed. It cures sickness, strengthens nature, cleans up pollution—"

"It could cure Thalia's tree."

I nodded. "And it would totally strengthen the borders of Camp Half-Blood. But Percy, the Fleece has been missing for years. Tons of heroes have searched for it with no luck."

"But Grover found it," Percy insisted. "He went looking for Pan and he found the Fleece instead because they both radiate nature magic. It makes sense, Annabeth. We can rescue him and save the camp at the same time. It's perfect!"

I wanted to share his enthusiasm, but instead I hesitated. "A little too perfect, don't you think? What if it's a trap?"

We'd already been baited into a trap once, last summer, and I was not ready to be manipulated again.

"What choice do we have?" Percy asked. "Are you going to help me rescue Grover or not?"

He said it so firmly, like he believed it so much. I was sure that he would find a way to go on this quest, with or without me. I glanced at Tyson, who was playing with the cutlery, blissfully unaware of our conversation. If Percy was telling the truth, and I was now very sure he was, then we'd have to face Grover's captor, a Cyclops a thousand times more viscous than Percy's half-brother.

"Percy," I said under my breath, so as not to let Tyson hear me. "we'll have to fight a Cyclops. Polyphemus, the worst of the Cyclopes. And there's only one place his island could be. The Sea of Monsters."

"Where's that?"

I stared at him. Sure, he wasn't that sharp about mythology, but I'm sure even a mortal would know where this notorious section of sea was located. "The Sea of Monsters. The same sea Odysseus sailed through, and Jason, and Aeneas, an all the others."

"You mean the Mediterranian?"

"No. Well, yes… but no."

"Another straight answer. Thanks."

"Look, Percy, the Sea of Monsters is the sea all heroes sail through on their adventures. It used to be in the Mediterranean, yes. But like everything else, it shifts locations as the West's center of power shifts."

"Like Mount Olympus being above the Empire State Building," he said. "And Hades being under Los Angeles."

"Right."

"But a whole sea of monsters—how could you hide something like that? Wouldn't mortals notice weird things happening… like, ships getting eaten and stuff?"

"Of course they notice. They don't understand, but they know something is strange about that part of the ocean. The Sea of Monsters is off the east coast if the U.S. now, just northeast of Florida. The mortals even have a name for it."

"The Bermuda Triangle?"

"Exactly." I said, relieved that he'd caught on.

"Okay… so at least we know where to look."

"It's still a huge area, Percy. Searching for one tiny island in monster-infested waters—"

"Hey, I'm the son of the sea god. This is my home turf. How hard can it be?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. Sure, getting out onto the sea would be the easy part. But first we had to get out of _here_. "We'll have to talk to Tantalus, get approval for a quest." I noticed how ridiculous that sounded; like the activities director would even consider it. "He'll say no."

"Not if we tell him tonight at the campfire in front of everybody. The whole camp will hear. They'll pressure him. He won't be able to refuse."

I had to give it to him: it was a pretty good idea. But still, I was skeptical. "Maybe." I looked down and noticed that we'd barely made a dent in the pile of dirty dishes. I sighed dejectedly. "We'd better get these dishes done. Hand me the lava spray gun, will you?"

* * *

><p>Spirits weren't high that night at the campfire. The fire, which was enchanted to reflect the campers' general mood, was a sad gray color, and burned only five feet high. It wasn't hard seeing why the fire was so disconsolate, as most people were still shaken up after the afternoon's bird attack. The Apollo cabin attempted to lift everyone's spirits by signing camp songs, but the result was diminutive.<p>

Dionysus, being the indirect god of parties, only managed to suffer through a few dispiritedly-sung songs before leaving altogether, muttering about how even pinochle with Chiron had more fun than this.

When the last song ended, Tantalus said, "Well, that was lovely!"

He came forward, holding a roasted marshmallow on a stick. He reached over and casually attempted to pluck off the marshmallow, but, just as the plate of brisket had my first day back, it flew off the end and straight in to the fire.

Tantalus turned back to us, smiling coldly, as if he wished we would follow the marshmallow's example. "Now, then! Some announcements about tomorrow's schedule."

"Sir," Percy interrupted.

I looked at him; so we really were going to ask for a quest. I was still skeptical that Tantalus would say yes, but what was the harm in trying?

Tantalus's eye twitched as he turned to face Percy. "Our kitchen boy has something to say?"

The Ares cabin snickered. Percy looked uncomfortable, but rose to his feet anyway. He looked at me, something like pleading in his eyes, and I stood up also.

I gave him the tiniest of reassuring smiles. He vaguely smiled back before turning to face Tantalus again.

"We have an idea to save the camp."

The Ares cabin wasn't snickering anymore. The entire camp had gone silent, looking expectantly at Percy and me. The campfire flared yellow as interest hiked up.

"Indeed," Tantalus said blandly. "Well, if it has anything to do with chariots—"

"The Golden Fleece," Percy interrupted. "We know where it is."

The fire grew orange. Tantalus opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Percy blurted out his dream about Grover and Polyphemus's island. The campers looked skeptical, so I stepped in and reminded them what the Fleece could do. I was glad to hear that I sounded pretty convincing.

"The Fleece can save the camp," I concluded. "I'm certain of it."

"Nonsense," Tantalus said. "We don't need saving."

Everyone stared at him until he started to look uncomfortable.

"Besides," he added quickly. "the Sea of Monsters? That's hardly an exact location. You wouldn't even know where to look."

"Yes, I would." Percy said confidently.

I leaned toward him, confused. "You would?"

He nodded. "30, 31, 75, 12."

I narrowed my eyes. Those were the numbers the Gray Sisters had given us. But how would they help us sail the Sea of Monsters?

And then something clicked. Sailing... numbers... They must be coordinates! At the time they were given to us, I thought they were just worthless numbers, but now…

"Ooo-kay," Tantalus said. "Thank you for sharing those meaningless numbers."

"They're coordinates," Percy said. "Latitude and longitude. I, uh, learned about it in social studies."

I was momentarily transported back into a small gray-walled room, leaning over Percy's shoulder as he stared at my picture. I blushed a bit before recovering myself.

"30 degrees, 31 minutes north, 75 degrees, 12 minutes west." I mused aloud. It was all clicking. "He's right! The Gray Sisters gave us those coordinates. That'd be somewhere in the Atlantic, off the coast of Florida. The Sea of Monsters. We need a quest!"

"Wait just a minute," Tantalus said.

The campers ignored him. They started chanting. "We need a quest! We need a quest!"

The flames rose higher.

"It isn't necessary!" Tantalus insisted.

"WE NEED A QUEST! WE NEED A QUEST!"

"Fine!" Tantalus shouted, his eyes ablaze with poorly controlled anger. "You brats want me to assign a quest?"

"YES!"

"Very well," he said. "I shall authorize a champion to undertake this perilous journey, to retrieve the Golden Fleece and bring it back to camp. Or die trying."

I swelled with anticipation. Was it really happening? Was Tantalus going to give us a quest? I was so eager that I didn't even notice the grim anger in Tantalus's eyes as he looked to Percy and me.

"I will allow our champion to consult the Oracle! And choose two companions for the journey. And I think the choice of the champion is obvious."

My excitement faltered under Tantalus's harsh glare. "The champion should be one who has earned the camp's respect, who has proven resourceful in the chariot races and courageous in the defense of the camp. You shall lead this quest… Clarisse!"

The fire flickered a hundred different colors, successfully imitating the feelings inside me. The Ares cabin started stomping and cheering, starting up a chant of, "CLARISSE! CLARISSE!"

Clarisse stood up, looking stunned, like she couldn't believe her ears. But then her eyes got a gratified glint, and her chest swelled with pride. "I accept the quest!"

"Wait!" Percy shouted out incredulously. "Grover is my friend. The dream came to _me_."

"Sit down!" one the Ares campers shouted. "You had your chance last summer!"

"Yeah!" another chimed in. "He just wants to be in the spotlight again!"

"I accept the quest!" Clarisse repeated. "I, Clarisse, daughter of Ares, will save the camp!"

I started to protest; what had Clarisse done that had deemed her worthy of this quest? Did her chariot-driving skills make her eligible? She had only won because everyone else was busy fighting off demon birds. Clarisse shouldn't be going on this quest!

My siblings joined in, protesting on my behalf. The rest of the camp began to divide, taking sides. Shouts and insults rang sliced the air like arrows, mixed in with the occasional marshmallow. Everyone rose to their feet, shouting and launching their marshmallows into the crowd. I was afraid we'd commence into a full-fledged food fight until Tantalus shouted, "Silence, you brats!"

The severity in his tone was enough to silence the whole camp. A lone marshmallow sailed past my ear, one that someone had thrown moments before Tantalus's outburst.

"Sit down!" he ordered. "And I will tell you a ghost story."

I didn't know where he was going with this, but I decided not to argue, because he was radiating so much fury it even made me uneasy. I reluctantly sat back down on the stone steps.

"Once upon a time there was a mortal king who was beloved by the Gods!" Tantalus put his hand on his chest, giving me the idea that he was about to launch into a story about himself.

"This king was even allowed to feast on Mount Olympus. But when he tried to take some ambrosia and nectar back to earth to figure out the recipe—just one doggie bad, mind you—the gods punished him. They banned him from their halls forever! His own people mocked him! His children scolded him! And, oh yes, campers, he had horrible children. Children—just—like—you!"

He pointed a pale, crooked finger at several people in the audience, including me.

"Do you know what he did to his ungrateful children?" Tantalus asked softly. I knew this story well and remembered what Tantalus had done to his children, and was disgusted by the small smile playing on his lips. "Do you know how he paid back the gods for their cruel punishment? He invited the Olympians to a feast at his palace, just to show that there were no hard feelings. No one noticed his children were missing. And when he served the gods dinner, my dear campers, can you guess what was in the stew?"

Revulsion hung in the air, heightened when Tantalus's small smiled grew bigger.

"Oh, the gods punished him in the afterlife," Tantalus sighed. "They did indeed. But he'd had his moment of satisfaction, hadn't he? His children never again spoke back to him or questioned his authority. And do you know what? Rumor has it that the king' spirit now dwells at this very camp, waiting for a chance to take revenge on ungrateful, rebellious children. And so… are there any more complaints, before we send Clarisse off on her quest?"

Silence.

Tantalus nodded at Clarisse, seemingly satisfied with the air of wariness he'd created. "The Oracle, my dear. Go on."

Clarisse shifted uncomfortably. "Sir—"

"Go!" he snarled.

She bowed awkwardly and hurried out of the pavilion. I stared after her enviously.

"What about you, Percy Jackson?" Tantalus asked. "No complaints from our dishwasher?"

He stayed silent, thank the Gods. The last thing we needed was a sarcastic remark from his to ensure that we never got out of this camp.

"Good," Tantalus said. "And let me remind everyone—no one leaves this camp without my permission. Anyone who tries… well, if they survive the attempt, they will be expelled forever, but it won't come to that. The harpies will be enforcing curfew from now on, and they are always hungry! Good night, my dear campers. Sleep well."

With a wave of his hand, the fire extinguished, and the campers trailed back to the cabins in the dark.

* * *

><p>I'm not one to sulk.<p>

But after the disastrous campfire, I couldn't help but sink into a rut of self-pity.

My siblings could see that I wasn't myself. They tried to cheer me up, but I wished they'd just leave me alone. I was certain now that the camp was going to die, because, honestly, I had no faith that Clarisse could retrieve the Fleece. She was a child of Ares, all brawn. Polyphemus couldn't be overtaken by pure force. He was a _Cyclops_, for gods' sake.

I tried to drown my sorrows and resentment in words, picking out the oldest and most dusty book off the shelf of my cabin. It didn't help much; if anything, it made me feel worse, because I opened up to a page about Cyclopes.

Eventually, I just left the cabin altogether. I couldn't stand my siblings' sympathetic faces stealing glances at me, or their consoling words. I stole down to the sword arena, hoping that maybe decapitating some dummies would allow me to leak out some of my anger.

The camp was silent as I walked through it, as if a veil of calmness had been laid over it. It certainly was a different atmosphere than that of tonight's campfire.

The sword arena was empty. I walked over to the side and took hold of a dummy. I dragged it to the middle of the arena, unsheathing my knife. I closed my eyes, getting my bearings, and suddenly I wasn't Annabeth, the betrayed girl that seemed to have everything going wrong. I was now Annabeth, the fierce warrior who didn't take no for an answer.

I danced around the dummy as if it were an enemy, trying out new techniques. I rolled, ducked, and slashed as if the dummy was alive.

I thought of Luke mid-strike, and the techniques he taught me. I was surprised when his face appeared in my mind and I felt no kind of sadness or betrayal. It was the first time since his leaving that I felt nothing of him.

I imagined he was there with me, egging me on, once again the mentor I respected. I dropped to the ground and slashed upward, slicing clean through the dummy's stomach. I parried an imaginary sword, and, with a clean swipe, slashed off the dummy's head. It fell to the ground with a thump, the straw leaking out.

I stepped back and admired my work. I dragged a hand across my forehead, wiping off the accumulating sweat. I had to admit, killing a dummy did take an edge of the stress off.

I sheathed my knife, thinking that I'd had enough for the night. Maybe I'd talk to Percy in the morning, and we could think of another plan to save the camp.

I thumbed the hilt of my dagger, my mind already swarming. And that's when the screaming started.

My blood froze. I knew that scream. It was Percy's.

I remembered vividly the last time I'd heard Percy scream; he'd come limping out of a forest, almost dead.

"HELP!" the scream ricocheted inside my ribcage; it was one of pure terror.

I took off running.


	9. Chapter 9

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

* * *

><p>A subtle wind caressed my hair as I raced through the silent camp, my pounding feet competing only with my beating heart. Another shout rang through the camp; I looked incredulously at my lonely surroundings. Had no one heard the cries for help?<p>

Almost fluidly, another set of feet blended in with my own. I could tell these were heavier from the complete un-stealth with which they ran. I looked back, greeted with the image of a lumbering Cyclops sprinting behind me.

"Tyson," I called back. He increased his speed to catch up with me. "did you hear—"

"Percy." he finished. "Needs help."

The dining pavilion was in view, and behind that, the sculpted sand dunes of the beach. Another strangled cry rang out.

"Percy!" I yelled.

I increased my pace, passing the manicured marble columns of the pavilion without a second thought. The beach still seemed too far away, and even as I forced my legs to move faster, it seemed as if I wasn't making any progress. Finally, I saw a break in the trees ahead and beyond that lay the glittering sands of the beach.

I broke through the trees, my hand poised to excavate my dagger. I saw Percy standing there, looking a bit shocked at our sudden appearance. I was so relieved to see him, but he seemed fine. Where was the danger that had caused him to cry out?

"What's going on?" I demanded. "I heard you calling for help!"

"Me, too!" Tyson spoke up, stumbling onto the sands behind me. "Heard you yell, 'Bad things are attacking!'"

"I didn't call you guys," he said. "I'm fine."

I scrutinized him. "But then who—" My eyes fell on something yellow and bright at his feet—three duffel bags. I raised my eyes a bit, resting on a bottle of vitamins and a thermos in his hands. I furrowed my brow in confusion. "What—"

"Just listen," he interrupted. "We don't have much time. I just ran into Hermes here—" he silenced my question with a stern look. "—let me finish! I ran into him, and he gave me these gifts." He gestured to the duffel bags and the curious assortment of containers in his hands. "He wants us to go on this quest! To save Grover, and, uh…" he gave me a wary look. "Yeah. To save Grover. See that ship on the horizon? That's our ticket out. We have maybe five minutes to leave before the harpies get us."

Sure enough, the distant screeching of the harpies bounced off the sand dunes, following our scent.

"Percy," I said hurriedly. "We have to do the quest."

"We'll get expelled, you know. Trust me, I'm an expert at getting expelled."

"So? If we fail, there won't be any camp to come back to."

"Yeah, but you promised Chiron—"

"I promised I'd keep you safe from danger. I can only do that by coming with you! Tyson can stay behind and tell them—"

"I want to go!" Tyson protested.

"No!" I said, my voice unnaturally high. "I mean… Percy, come on. You know that's impossible."

Percy looked from Tyson to me, seemingly struggling to make a decision. "We can't leave him. Tantalus would punish him for us being gone."

"Percy," I said, my patience waning. I knew Percy could never attempt to kill another human, so how would Tyson—a gentle, happy-go-lucky Cyclops—deal with having to fight one of his own kind? "we're going to Polyphemus's island! Polyphemus is an S-i-k… a C-y-k…" I stamped my foot in frustration, cursing my dyslexia. "You know what I mean!"

"Tyson can go if he wants to." Percy insisted.

Tyson clapped his hands joyfully. "Want to!"

I glared at him in anger. He looked away uncomfortably.

"All right," I said bitterly. "How do we get to that ship?"

"Hermes said my father would help."

"Well then, Seaweed Brain? What are you waiting for?"

He turned away and stepped into the waves. The water subtly climbed up his leg, almost lovingly.

"Um, dad?" Percy said hesitantly. "How's it going?"

"Percy!" I hissed. "We're in a hurry!"

"We need your help," Percy raised his voice. "We need to get to that ship, like, before we get eaten and stuff, so…"

The world was deadly still for a moment as nothing happened. I could hear the harpies' screeching ripping at my ears. And then, about a hundred yards from shore, white lines appeared on the surface. They glided speedily toward the shore, slowing becoming more recognizable.

Then, as they neared the shore, the heads of three graceful white stallions burst out of the surf. They pulled themselves up onto the sand, revealing their silvery fish bodies on their back halves. Their scales glistened beautifully, as did their wonderful rainbow tail fins.

Tyson gasped. "Fish ponies!"

"Hippocampi!" I breathed. "They're beautiful."

The one nearest me whinnied and nuzzled my hand in appreciation.

"We'll admire them later," Percy said. "Come on!"

"There!" I heard a voice screech behind us. "Bad children out of cabins! Snack time for lucky harpies!"

I looked back. Five harpies had seen us, and they were fluttering our way over the sand dunes. They looked more or less the same as the kitchen harpies, with plump bodies and pinched, evil-looking faces. Their black wings were disheveled and too small for their bodies, but their talons looked sharp enough to compensate.

"Tyson!" Percy said. "Grab a duffel bag!"

He was still staring at the hippocampi with open-mouthed awe.

"Tyson!"

"Uh?"

"Come on!"

Percy and I worked together to push Tyson onto the largest hippocampus. We gathered up the bags and mouthed the beautiful steeds. With a slight push of encouragement—and a lame, cowboy-ish "Giddyup!" from Percy—the hippocampi plunged into the waves.

The sea-animals sliced through the waves like Jet Skis, smoothly gliding across the water. Soon, the resentful wailing of the harpies was lost in the wind, and the shore of Camp was merely a blot on the horizon.

I entangled my hands into the hippocampus's mane as salt water jumped up and sprinkled my face. The cruise ship loomed closer, soon as impending as the Empire State Building. I gazed up its white hull, easily ten stories high. Above that, dozens of levels of decks glittered. The ship's name was painted on the side, and, through my dyslexia, I eventually deciphered it to be christened the _Princess Andromeda_.

I noticed, attached to the masthead, there was a fairly large sculpture of a girl. She wore a Greek chiton, with her hair flowing majestically around her as if the wind affected it. But her beautiful appearance was dampened by the shackles binding her to bow, and the expression of pure terror on her face.

It reminded me of the old myth of Andromeda, the princess who'd been punished because of her mother's vain arrogance. Poseidon had become so irritated with the queen that he sent a sea monster to ravage the coast of the queen's kingdom, and the only way to stop the damage was to sacrifice Andromeda. Of course, Perseus had rescued her by defeating the monster with the head of Medusa and married Andromeda, happily ever after… I could only hope that we had his luck.

"How do we get aboard?" I shouted to Percy over the waves. The hippocampi responded, skimming along the side of the ship and pulling up next to a service ladder riveted to the side of the hull.

I guess that worked.

"You first," Percy told me.

I slung the duffel bag over my shoulder and grabbed the bottom rung. Once I was entirely on the ladder, my hippocampus gave a whinny of farewell before diving out of sight. I began to climb, glad that I was in shape enough to do it, as I had about ten more stories to go.

The sea wind howled around me, and a couple times I almost lost my balance. The rungs were slick with sea water, but thankfully the higher I got, the drier they were. I didn't turn around to check if Percy and Tyson were following.

By the time I was almost to the top, my arms were shaking with exhaustion from the effort of hoisting myself up the side of the ship. I kept forcing myself to go; I couldn't stop now.

When I finally made it to the top, I flung myself on to the maintenance deck that the ladder had led to. I shook my arm, allowing the blood to rush back down to my fingertips and relishing the fact that we'd done it—we'd left Camp Half-Blood alive!

Percy and Tyson climbed over next. We looked around. The deck looked empty, which was a good thing. In front of us, there was a set of locked double doors. I walked over and pulled out my knife, expertly prying it open. My skills were rusty, as I'd never had to open a locked door since my days on the run, but I was still good enough. After a couple minutes and a fair amount of cursing in Ancient Greek, the door swung open and we snuck through.

Being stowaways, our immediate action was to prowl through the darkness, acting like ninjas and making sure we weren't seen. But I quickly found that there was no need for that, as the ship seemed pretty deserted, even for midnight. We walked half the length of the ship and met no one, not even roaming employees. We passed dozens of cabins, all with no sound coming from beyond them.

"It's a ghost ship," Percy murmured.

"No," Tyson said nervously, fiddling with his duffel bag. "Bad smell."

I sniffed the air, frowning. "I don't smell anything."

"Cyclopes are like satyrs," Percy explained. "They can smell monsters. Isn't that right, Tyson?"

He nodded.

"Okay," I said. "So what exactly do you smell?"

"Something bad," The Cyclops answered.

I wanted to roll my eyes. "Great. That clears it up."

We emerged onto a deck, coming to a swimming pool. Rows of empty chairs lined the poolside, and a closed bar stood off to one side. The water in the pool glowed eerily, sloshing in time with the ship's movements.

Above us were more levels, ranging from a climbing wall and putt-putt golf course, to a revolving restaurant. But no sign of life.

But there was an air of danger swirling around; I could sense it as if it were as tangible as the air I breathed in.

I looked around warily, and suddenly I realized just how tired I was. Exhaustion crept into my bones like an old familiar ache. My eyes were almost drooping with the inviting prospect of sleep.

"We need a hiding place," Percy said. "Somewhere safe to sleep."

"Sleep," I agreed wearily.

We explored a few more corridors, wandering around the ghost ship before we found an empty suite with the door left open. The fact that it was open and unoccupied struck me as weird, but I was so tired I just took it as a last blessing from Hermes.

There was a basket of chocolates on the table, a bottle of sparkling cider resting in an ice bucket on the nightstand, and a mint on the pillow with a hand-written note that said: _Enjoy your cruise!_

I plopped my duffel bag on the bed, curious to see what Hermes had packed. It turned out he'd thought of everything; the bag was conveniently stuffed with extra clothes, toiletries, rations, a bag of mortal cash, and even a leather pouch full of drachmas. I even found—to my intense delight and relief—my invisibility hat tucked neatly in the corner.

I looked around the suite, noting that there was only one bed. I'd have to room somewhere else, as even the thought of sharing caused heat and discomfort to rise.

"I'll be next door," I said, zipping my duffel bag back up. "You guys_ don't_ drink or eat anything."

"You think this place is enchanted?"

I frowned, thinking about the statue of Andromeda on the bow, and about the odd uneasy feeling radiating throughout the ship. "I don't know. Something isn't right. Just… be careful."

I left the suite, checking the next room to see if it was empty. Unsurprisingly enough, it was. I pushed open the door, ignoring the uneasy feeling in my stomach as I dropped the duffel bag on the foot of the bed. I changed quickly into some more comfortable clothes and dropped into the sea of fluffy blankets and pillows. Before I'd even closed my eyes, I had already drifted off.

* * *

><p>"Good morning passengers!"<p>

I groaned and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, sitting up. A voice that was way too happy for someone this early in the morning flooded the suite. I listened vaguely.

"We'll be at sea all day today. Excellent weather for the poolside mambo party! Don't forget million-dollar bingo in the Kraken Lounge, and for our _special guests_, disemboweling practice on the Promenade!"

I sat up straighter. _Disemboweling practice?_ What kind of cruise was this?

I jumped out of bed, hoping Percy had heard that, too. I left the suite and knocked impatiently on the door to Percy and Tyson's. Without waiting for an answer, I poked my head in.

"_Disemboweling_ practice?" I said incredulously.

Tyson was still curled up on the couch, his feet hanging off into the bathroom. Percy was sitting straight up in bed, his hair a mess. He shrugged, as if to say, _well we knew this wasn't going to be your average cruise._

Once we were all dressed, we decided to venture out on the ship. Surprisingly, we actually ran into people. We tried to blend in and act like we weren't stowaways, but no one seemed to notice us.

A dozen senior citizens were hobbling to breakfast, some clutching canes. A dad was taking his children to the pool for an early morning swim. Crew members in crisp white uniforms strolled the deck with happy smiles on, tipping their hats to passengers.

The family of swimmers passed us, and the dad spoke to his children,"We are on a cruise. We are having fun."

"Yes," his three kids said in eerie unison. "We are having a blast. We will swim in the pool."

They wandered off. I stared after them curiously.

A crew member approached us, his eyes glazed. "Good morning. We are all enjoying ourselves aboard the Princess Andromeda. Have a nice day." He said before drifting away.

"Percy, this is weird," I whispered. "They're all in some kind of trance."

Before he got to answer, we passed a cafeteria. Leaning on the buffet line—with its large muzzle buried in the eggs, its body no bigger than a grizzly bear—was a hellhound. My eyes widened at the sight of it.

I was ready to jump at it and kill it, but the strange thing was, there was a middle-aged couple stationed right behind the monster, waiting patiently as if the hellhound was no more than another old woman. Even from this distance, I could tell their eyes were slightly glazed.

"Not hungry anymore," Tyson murmured.

I was about to agree, but a scaly, reptilian voice halted the words in my throat. It slithered down the corridor, saying, "Ssssix more joined yessssterday."

I looked around for a hiding place, frantically gesturing to Percy and Tyson to follow when I found a door. We all ducked inside. It didn't even occur to me we were in the woman's room until I saw the rose colored tiles ringing the wall.

I listened intently as someone—or some_thing_—slithered past the door, making a sound not unlike sandpaper against carpet.

"Yesss," a second voice hissed. "He drawsss them. Ssssoon we will be sssstrong."

The monsters slithered into the cafeteria with a cold hissing.

I looked at Percy; if it wasn't obvious this wasn't a normal cruise ship before, it was sure obvious now. "We have to get out of here."

"You think I _want_ to be in the girls' restroom?"

"I mean the ship, Percy! We have to get off the ship."

"Smells bad," Tyson agreed. "And dogs eat all the eggs. Annabeth is right. We must leave the restroom and ship."

Percy visibly shuddered.

And then I heard another voice, one the chilled my blood and caused my heart to beat faster.

"—only a matter of time. Don't push me, Agrius!"

My face paled. I'd gone so long without hearing that voice, so long _yearning _for that voice. Could it really be him?

It had to be.

Luke.

I tried to block the emotions rushing through me. But there was one that broke down my internal barrier—anger. All this summer I'd been trying to ignore the fact that he'd turned sour, and now the truth was all around me. He'd entranced all the passengers, loaded the cruise ship with monsters, and it sounded as if he didn't regret it.

"I'm not pushing you!" Another voice—this one deeper and angrier—growled. "I'm just saying, if this gamble doesn't pay off—"

"It'll pay off," Luke snapped. "They'll take the bait. Now, come, we've got to get to the admiralty suite and check on the casket."

Their voice faded as the receded down the corridor.

Tyson whimpered. "Leave now?"

I looked at Percy, and the determination in his eyes matched mine. We came to a silent agreement.

"We can't," Percy told Tyson.

"We have to find out was Luke is up to," I agreed. "And if possible, we're going to beat him up, bind him in chains and drag him to Mount Olympus."

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews are seriously to me what crack is to addicts. They're the best things an author can ask for. So, anyone want to be my dealer? :D<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry this is so late! It's, what, five days late? Sorry! I've literally been suffocated by the amount of homework and studying I have to do, and top of all that, I had writer's block for a week. I've _just_ now gotten my inspiration back, and I promise the next chapter will be up sooner!**

**One more thing-did anyone get the Son of Neptune? It came out on Tuesday, and I literally have it next to me right now. I'm itching to start reading it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

* * *

><p>It turned out we didn't get to drag Luke to Olympus in chains. In fact, it'd be safe to say the plan didn't go quite as smoothly.<p>

After we crept out of the girl's bathroom—much to Percy's comical relief—we quickly devised a plan to track down Luke. I offered to go alone, armed with my invisibility cap and dagger, but Percy wouldn't have it. He eventually convinced me that it was too dangerous to split up.

The hallways were still eerily tranquil, but we crept through them anyway, expecting more hellhounds or other monsters of the sort to jump out now that we knew who occupied the ship. We stopped by the cabins just long enough to round up our stuff, because there would be no way we were spending another night aboard the _Princess Andromeda._

Tyson slung all three duffel bags over his shoulders, even though Percy protested. I told him not to worry about it—Cyclopes were very strong, and I was sure Tyson was able to carry three bags. And I was right, as Tyson carried them as if they were just a simple backpack.

We snaked through the corridors, trying to blend into the shadows as we followed the ship's YOU ARE HERE signs to the admiralty suite, to Luke. I scouted ahead invisibly, making sure we weren't seen. We hid from everyone who passed, but they seemed to all be glassy-eyed passengers.

Well, that was until I caught a glimpse of a shockingly familiar face striding up the next hallway.

I quickly backtracked to Percy and Tyson. "Hide!" I hissed, shoving them into a supply closet before they had a chance to sidestep themselves.

I quickly closed the door to the closet and crouched down low, my hand still invisibly clutched around Percy's arm, listening.

"You see that Aethiopian drakon in the cargo hold?" An unfamiliar voice leaked through the door frame.

Another voice laughed, speaking in a voice I'd heard snatches of every now and then. "Yeah, it's awesome."

I squeezed Percy's arm; did he recognize the boy as I did?

"I hear they got two more coming," the familiar voice continued. "They keep arriving at this rate, oh, man—no contest!"

The voices continued to gush about the drakons until they faded down the corridor.

I turned to Percy and whipped off my cap so he could see my face. "That was Chris Rodriguez! You remember—from Cabin Eleven."

Vague recognition washed over his face. Then he narrowed his eyes. "What's another half-blood doing here?"

I shook my head. If another half-blood was here, one that I knew had once been on our side, how many other had gone over with him?

As much as it troubled me, I knew that it would have to take a backseat to our current mission: to find Luke.

We left our spot crouched against the door and continued to creep own the hallway. I opted to not put my invisibility cap back on; I could almost sense Luke getting closer, and the first thing I wanted him to see when we came face to face was the anger in my eyes.

The air seemed to get colder the more we followed the conspicuous arrows leading us toward Luke. It was almost like a thick, tantalizing aura of evil.

The sense of evil was multiplied when I caught sight of something that made me freeze. To my right was a glass wall that peered down into the multistory canyon of the ship—and at the bottom was the biggest assortment of monsters I'd ever seen.

Standing in front of a candy shop were a dozen Laistrygonians—the sight brought me back to day I gathered Percy, which seemed so long ago—two shadow-colored hellhounds, and humanoid females with tentacle-like limbs that flowed out of their torsos where their legs should've been.

"Scythian Dracaenae," I whispered, sensing that Percy probably didn't have the faintest clue what the snake-ladies were. "Dragon women."

The monsters, I noticed, made a semi-circle around a young guy—with a growing sense of dread, I realized he was another half-blood—who was hacking viciously on a straw dummy that was wearing a familiar orange shirt. I didn't want to know how they got it. As we watched, the half-blood stabbed the dummy through the stomach and jerked upwards, slicing clean through the middle. Straw flew everywhere as the monsters howled and cheered.

I tore myself away from the grotesque scene. A leaden feeling was pooling in the pit of my stomach. Percy glanced at me and put on a brave face, though it was a weak one.

"Come on," he said. "The sooner we find Luke the better."

I nodded, finding myself unable to speak. Between the scene of the dummy getting ripped apart and the prospect of seeing Luke again, my tongue felt dry. I picked up my feet, determinedly walking away from the window. The end of the hallway was getting closer.

The oak doors seemed to grow imminently as we approached them. They were towering and a rick dark color, with expensive-looking moldings lining the frame. There were no more arrows around, so I assumed we were at our destination.

I gritted my teeth and prepared myself to rush right through the door, turn on Luke and accuse him of betrayal. I was capable of that, right?

Thirty feet away, however, Tyson stopped us. "Voices inside."

"You can hear that far?" Percy asked.

Tyson closed his eyes and, before I could even prepare, spoke in voice that was achingly familiar, but definitely not his. It was husky, proud—Luke's. "—the prophecy ourselves. The fools won't know which way to turn."

I flinched; the sound of the Cyclops imitating Luke's voice brought me back painfully to an old warehouse, when I was young and lost and scared…

Tyson continued to speak, but the voice no longer belonged to Luke. It was deeper and rougher, like the voice we'd heard Luke talking to outside the cafeteria. "You really think the old horseman is gone for good?"

They were talking about Chiron, I knew it. And from the way the man said it, I knew my suspicions had been right all along: Luke had poisoned the tree. Whether directly or indirectly, it didn't matter; he still went through with it when he had the power to stop it.

Luke's laugh bubbled out of Tyson's mouth. "They can't trust him. Not with the skeletons in _his_ closet. The poisoning of the tree was the final straw."

I shivered; it was difficult hearing Luke's voice, especially when he was speaking in such a sinister way. "Stop that, Tyson! How do you do that? It's creepy."

Tyson opened his eye and looked at me in a puzzled way. "Just listening."

"Keep going." Percy said. "What else are they saying?"

Tyson closed his eye again, falling back into the two men's voices.

"Quiet!" The gruff man's voice said.

"Are you sure?" Luke whispered.

"Yes," the gruff-voice man growled. "Right outside."

Of course I realized what was happening, but there was only enough time for Percy to say, "Run!" before the doors swung open with a creak and a swoosh of air. Before I knew it, I was face-to-face with Luke. Two giants flanked him, aiming pointed spears at our chests.

"Well," Luke said with a crooked smile. "If it isn't my two favorite cousins. Come right in."

* * *

><p>There are a lot of things I could've—<em>should've<em>—done when I saw Luke standing there, his scar turning down the left corner of his mouth. I could've aimed a punch at him, screamed insults, or challenged him to a duel right then and there. But at the sight of my old mentor—my old _friend_—with a crooked smile tainting his tanned face, all I could do was stare.

He looked almost the same—the same golden hair, the same bright blue eyes, the same sculpted muscles. But an icy aura surrounded him now, and instead of the easy smile I'd grown to love, there was cold, almost stiff purse of the lips, and it was a change I wasn't fond of.

Luke stood back and allowed us to walk into the room. When I passed him, I half expected his eyes to soften a little, or his cold smile to melt a bit, but he remained chilly and stiff. I dropped my eyes, disappointed.

The suite was beautiful. It had huge windows that curved gracefully along the back wall, painting within it a sight of pure tranquility. Green sea and blue sky stretched out peacefully to the horizon. A Persian rug covered the floor, holding up two plush sofas. Propped against one of them, I noticed, was a black sword I didn't recognize. It glinted strangely in the light. A canopied bed occupied a corner of the room, with an elegant mahogany table in the other. The table was loaded with food that made my empty stomach growl.

But what the room was paired with my skin crawl. In the back of the room was a velvet dais, holding up a ten-foot-long golden casket. It was a sarcophagus, engraved with Ancient Greek scenes of cities burning to the ground and heroes dying awful deaths. Even though sunlight was steadily filling the room with sunny warmth, the casket seemed to emanate a counterintuitive bitter cold.

"Well," Luke said, spreading his arms proudly. "A little nicer than Cabin Eleven, huh?"

I glared at him. I noticed that he looked a little different than last summer, with his hair clipped and orderly, unlike its former unruliness. He no longer sported Bermuda shorts and a camp shirt, instead opting to go for khaki pants, a crisp button-down shirt, and loafers.

"Sit," he said. He waved his hand and three chairs scooted to the center of the room.

None of us bothered to use them.

My eyes shifted to the two goons standing behind Luke. They looked like twins, but they were definitely not human. Their claw-like hands each clenched around a javelin, still pointed at our chests. They stood at about eight feet tall, and their chests were so thick with brown fur that a shirt wasn't necessary. They wore only blue jeans, and paw-like feet peeked out from beneath the fabric. Their noses swooped in a distinctly snout-like way, and their teeth were sharp.

"Where are my manners?" Luke said smoothly. "These are my assistants, Agrius and Oreius. Perhaps you've heard of them."

He looked at me as he said the last part; he knew me too well. Of course I knew them.

"You don't know Agrius and Oreius's story?" Luke asked, more to Percy than to me. "Their mother… well, it's sad, really. Aphrodite ordered the young woman to fall in love. She refused and ran to Artemis for help. Artemis let her become one of her maiden huntresses, but Aphrodite got her revenge. She bewitched the young woman into falling in love with a bear. When Artemis found out, she abandoned the girl in disgust. Typical of the gods, wouldn't you say? They fight one another and the poor humans get caught in the middle. The girl's twin sons here, Agrius and Oreius, have no love for Olympus. They like half-bloods well enough, though…"

"For lunch," Agrius growled. I recognized his husky voice to be the one talking to Luke earlier.

"Hehe! Hehe!" Oreius giggled, licking his lips. He kept bobbing his head and sniggering in glee until both his twin brother and Luke were staring at him.

"Shut up, you idiot!" Agrius growled. "Go punish yourself!"

Oreius whimpered in a resigned kind of way. I watched, alarmed, as the bear man trudged over to the corner and banged his head against the dining table, making the silverware jump.

Luke acted like this wasn't strange at all. He flopped down casually onto the sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "Well, Percy, we let you survive another year. I hope you appreciated it. How's your mom? How's school?"

"You poisoned Thalia's tree."

Luke sighed. I looked desperately at him, not caring that I seemed vulnerable. I just wanted him to deny the accusation, to say he still cared too much about Thalia to destroy her. But, even if he said it, would I believe it?

"Right to the point, eh?" he said. "Okay, sure, I poisoned the tree. So what?"

At his words, the first thing I felt was extreme disappointment. He'd let me down. I'd trusted him—_Thalia_ had trusted him—and he' tossed her life aside like a rag doll. And then, before I could stop it, an anger so intense it made me shake boiled in my stomach, quickly rising up my throat. It grew until my fury was beyond words. As if him admitting to poisoning Thalia wasn't enough, he had to go act all casual about it, as if he didn't care that he was the cause of his oldest friend's slow death. How_ dare_ he?

"How could you?" I screamed at him. I felt hysterical with anger. "Thalia saved your life! _Our _lives! How could you dishonor her—"

"I didn't dishonor her!" Luke snapped, retracting his feet from the coffee table. "The gods dishonored her, Annabeth! If Thalia were alive, she'd be on my side."

"Liar!"

"If you knew what was coming, you'd understand—"

"I understand that you want to destroy the camp!" I yelled. "You're a monster!"

Luke shook his head, like he might with a stubborn child. "The gods have blinded you. Can't you imagine a world without them, Annabeth? What good is that ancient history you study? Three thousand years of baggage! The West is rotten to the core. It has to be destroyed. Join me! We can start the world anew. We could use your intelligence, Annabeth."

If I hadn't known him for five years, I might not have noticed the slight desperation in his eyes, the edge of hysteria. If he'd been just some stranger yelling at me to join him, I wouldn't have even observed the slight crack in his voice. What had happened to him?

I shook away that thought. He was a traitor now. I didn't care about him.

"Because you have none of your own!" I shouted.

His blue eyes narrowed. "I know you, Annabeth. You deserve better than tagging along on some hopeless quest to save the camp. Half-Blood Hill will be overrun by monsters within the next month. The heroes who survive will have no choice but to join us or be hunted to extinction. You really want to be on a losing team… with company like this?" Luke pointed a finger at Tyson.

"Hey!" Percy said indignantly.

"Traveling with a _Cyclops_," Luke said it as if he were chiding me. "Talk about dishonoring Thalia's memory! I'm surprised at you, Annabeth. You of all people—"

"Stop it!" I shouted. My voice was strained; I was on the edge of tears. Didn't he know it was hard form me to travel with a Cyclops, after everything that had happened? Did he not think that I still felt guilty? I could still see Thalia, dangling helplessly from the roof, limp from unconsciousness…

I buried my head in my hands. The memories were becoming more vivid, and I didn't want Luke to see me cry.

"Leave her alone," Percy said. "And leave Tyson out of this."

Luke laughed humorlessly. "Oh, yeah, I heard. Your father claimed him. Yes, Percy, I know all about that. And about your plan to find the Fleece. What were those coordinates, again… 30, 31, 75, 12? You see, I still have friends at camp who keep my posted."

"Spies, you mean."

I dropped my hands from my face, curling them to my chest. There were spies at camp?

"How many insults from your father can you stand, Percy? You think he's grateful to you? You think Poseidon cares for you any more than he cares for this monster?"

Tyson clenched his fist and a feral growl bubbled from his throat.

Luke just chuckled. "The gods are so using you, Percy. Do you have any idea what's in store for you if you reach your sixteenth birthday? Has Chiron even_ told_ you the prophecy?"

The determinedly angry look on Percy's face faltered a little at the mention of the prophecy. Luke knew how to distract him.

"I know what I need to know," Percy said. "Like, who my enemies are."

"Then you're a fool."

Tyson reached up his hand and brought it down on the nearest dining chair, smashing it to splinters. The crash made me jump, and I could tell it startled Luke a little too. "Percy is not a fool!"

Tyson charged Luke, his face contorted like I'd never seen it before. He raised his fist and started to bring them down towards Luke's head—a blow that knock someone out cold—but Agrius and Oreius intercepted. They seized both of Tyson's arm and forcefully shoved him onto the Persian carpet. The floor shuddered under the Cyclops's weight.

"Too bad, Cyclops," Luke said. He hadn't even flinched when Tyson had started to rush him. "Looks like my grizzly friends together are more than a match for your strength. Maybe I should let them—"

"Luke," Percy cut in. "Listen to me. Your father sent us."

At once, Luke's seemingly cool demeanor changed swiftly. His eyes—which had seemed almost bored—now overflowed with rage and his tanned face turned a color reminiscent of pepperoni. Through clenched teeth, he growled, "Don't—_even_—mention him."

"He told us to take this boat," Percy said, ignoring Luke's warning. "I thought it was just for a ride, but he sent us here to find you. He told me he won't give up on you, no matter how angry you are."

_"Angry?"_ Luke roared. "_Give up on me?_ He abandoned me, Percy! I want Olympus destroyed! Every throne crushed to rubble! You tell Hermes it's going to happen, too. Each time a half-blood joins us, the Olympians grow weaker and we grow stronger. _He_ grows stronger."

He thrust a finger over at the intricately-decorated golden coffin. My skin began to crawl.

"So?" Percy said. "What's so special…"

His voice dwindled to nothingness. My own eyes grew wide. I had an idea as to what might be inside the sarcophagus, and the room got colder.

"Whoa," Percy said, staring wide-eyed at Luke. "You don't mean—"

"He is re-forming," Luke said. How was that possible? "Little by little, we're calling his life force out of the pit. With every recruit who pledges our cause, another small piece appears—"

"That's disgusting!" I said. Revulsion bubbled in my stomach.

Luke sneered at me. "Your mother was born from Zeus's split skull, Annabeth. I wouldn't talk. Soon there will be enough of the titan lord so that we can make him whole again. We will piece together a new body for him, a work worthy of the forges of Hephaestus."

"You're insane," I spit.

"Join us and you'll be rewarded. We have powerful friends, sponsors rich enough to buy this cruise ship and much more. Percy, your mother will never have to work again. You can buy her a mansion. You can have power, fame—whatever you want. Annabeth, you can realize your dream of being an architect. You can build a monument to last a thousand years. A temple to the lords of the next ages!"

"Go to Tartarus," I said.

Luke sighed. "A shame."

He picked up a device that looked like a TV remote and pressed a red button. Within seconds, the door of the suite flew open to reveal two uniformed crew members, armed with nightsticks. Their eyes were glassy and they were most definitely mortals, but I had a sinking feeling that they would be worthy opponents in a fight.

"Ah, good, security," Luke said. "I'm afraid we have some stowaways."

"Yes, sir," they said dreamily.

Luke turned to Oreius. "It's time to feed the Aethiopian drakon. Take these fools below and show them how it's done."

Oreius grinned stupidly. "Hehe! Hehe!"

I was starting to doubt that he could form articulate sentences.

"Let me go, too," Agrius grumbled. "My brother is worthless. That Cyclops—"

"Is no threat," Luke said. He glanced back at the golden casket in a troubled sort of way. "Agrius, stay here. We have important matters to discuss."

"But—"

"Oreius, don't fail me. Stay in the hold to make sure the drakon is properly fed."

Oreius stepped forward and prodded us with his javelin. I gave Luke one last look before we were herded out of the suite, flanked by the two glassy-eyed security guards.

* * *

><p>The javelin tip was cold as it prodded into my back. I kept Oreius in my peripheral vision, unwilling to let the idiotic bear man out of my sight. I knew that we had to get out of here, and we would only have one chance.<p>

We emerged from the corridor and onto the deck. The sudden appearance of the sun blinded me for a minute, before settling on burning the back of my neck. Across the deck was a door that I knew hid an elevator behind it. From there, we'd go down to the hold and become drakon meat.

Before I could assemble an escape plan, I heard Percy say, "Now."

Tyson turned around and smacked Oreius thirty feet back. With a grunt and a splash, the bear man landed in the pool, right into the middle of the brainwashed family we'd passed earlier.

"Ah!" the kids yelled in unison. "We are _not_ having a blast in the pool!"

Quickly enough, I caught on. I aimed a kick at one of the guards as he drew a nightstick. He doubled over, breathless, and I kicked his stomach again for good measure. Too late, I realized the other guard was running for the nearest alarm box.

"Stop him!" I yelled. Percy ran forward with a desk chair in his hands, but just before he was able to knock him across the head, the guard pushed down on the alarm.

Sirens pierced through the chaos. Red lights flashed everywhere, adding to the mayhem.

I caught sight of a yellow inflatable boat hanging over the side. The only way were going to evade capture was by leaving _now_. "Lifeboat!" I yelled.

We ran for the nearest one and struggled to rip the canvas cover off.

I looked back. Monsters and glassy-eyes security officers were swarming the deck, pushing aside tourists and waiters, spilling colorful drinks and expensive-looking food. A guy decked out in Greek armor unsheathed a sword and charged, but slipped in a puddle of red drink. Laistrygonian archers assembled on the deck above us, notching arrows in enormous bows.

I fumbled with the thick ropes binding the lifeboat to the ship. "How do you launch this thing?" I screamed.

A hellhound leapt toward us, its claws glinting, but Tyson knocked it aside with a fire extinguisher.

"Get in!" Percy yelled, uncapping Riptide. I didn't have to be told twice.

A volley of arrows sliced the air, coming towards us. Percy slashed the weapons away with a skillful swipe while Tyson and I struggled with the release pulley.

He jumped in next to us.

"Hold on!" he yelled. With a single swipe, Riptide decimated the ropes and the sudden change in direction startled me. I gave a strangled yelp as the wind hit my face, watering my eyes. My stomach swopped as the glittering sea came closer and closer.

I heard a whistle above me, and looked up to see dozens of arrows flying over the side of the ship. Even through the fear and adrenaline coursing through me, I couldn't help but give a weak laugh.

It was lost in the wind.

* * *

><p><strong>Again, sorry for the lateness! The chapter isn't as good as I wanted it to be, and I wish I had more time to work on it, but I couldn't keep you guys waiting any longer. I'd love to hear your reviews on it, though. :)<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Wow, so this is like a _month_ late... Sorry guys, seriously. I was r****ecently plagued with some health issues, though, and it took alot of my time and energy to deal with them. I haven't been feeling great _at all,_ and with that I also didn't have the energy or inspiration to write. But I'm feeling better now and I thought you guys deserved a little Halloween treat :D **

**Just a warning, though, the next couple of chapters probably won't be updated regularly, because this year I am tackling NaNoWriMo, a 30 day writing adventure where you attempt to write a 50,000 word book in a month... ha, let's see if I can do _that_. The Lightning Theif: Annabeth was only 35,000 words and it took me close to 6 months to complete. But I'll try anyway.**

**So, enough rambling. As always, enjoy :)**

* * *

><p>The air curled up around me, cradling me as it rushed past by, caressing my sleep-worn shirt roughly. The adrenaline and excitement that had rushed through me only seconds before was gone, replaced with reality and a sharp fear of what awaited us at the bottom of our fall.<p>

"Thermos!" I heard Percy yell through the roar of the wind.

_"What?"_ I cried back; what good was a thermos in a time like this? I tightened my hands on the boat straps so hard an ache started to plague my arms, but I didn't dare let go. The harsh wind stung my eyes, and I had to blink rapidly in order to keep my vision working.

Next to me, Tyson grabbed a duffel bag and forced it open, extracting the thermos Hermes had given us. He handed it to Percy.

I heard a shrill whistle to my left and saw arrows and javelins cutting through the air next to us, barely missing the inflatable platoons of our boat.

"Hang on!" Percy yelled.

"I _am_ hanging on!" I yelled back shrilly.

"Tighter!"

I decided not to argue.

I felt Tyson's rough hand grab the back of my shirt, twisting his fist into the fabric so that I didn't fall. For once, I didn't mind him touching me.

I saw Percy give the thermos cap a quarter turn. It didn't look like the thermos would do much, but I was proved wrong. Instantly, a white sheet of pure air shot from the thermos and propelled us sideways. The change in direction startled me, and my eyes grew wide as I peeked over the side. We were almost flying, plummeting toward the water at a forty-five-degree angle.

I braced myself for the landing. When we hit the water, the impact jostled my entire body. My hair jumped around my face as we skipped over the water once, twice, thrice, transforming our vessel from a stationary emergency boat to a life-size skipping stone.

And then we turned into a speed boat, propelled by the magic air spilling out of the thermos. Sea spray jumped up and hit me in the face and I loosened my grip on the straps, suddenly realizing just how hard I'd been gripping them.

As I massaged my fingers, I looked back into the distance. The Princess Andromeda was no longer the impressive cruise ship that had towered above us on our hippocampi. It had shrunk into an innocent toy boat, floating over the distant choppy waters. I watched it until it disappeared, not even a speck on the horizon.

I sunk onto the uncomfortable plastic inflatable sides of the boat as I rubbed my eyes, which were burning from the salt water.

"That's the last time I free-fall from a cruise ship." I said weakly.

Percy managed a strangled laugh as he adjusted our direction.

I thought back to Luke and the evil smirk on his face as he gestured to the golden coffin lying in his suite. He was planning to bring Kronos back, and we had to find a way to stop him.

"Chiron," I said suddenly. "We have to tell Chiron about this."

Percy nodded. "Yeah. He's the only person who would listen."

I grabbed my duffel bag and fished for the leather pouch of drachmas. When my hand came in contact with the rough fabric, I brought it out and removed a single golden coin.

It turned out that the sea spray churning from our speed was perfect for rainbows when hit with just the right amount of light. I threw the drachma into the mist and prayed to Iris to show us Chiron, and my old mentor appeared—but in a questionable place. Strobe lights pulsed in the background, and music blared, like he was at a dance club.

We told him about us sneaking away from camp and boarding the Princess Andromeda, running into Luke and finding out about the golden box for Kronos's remains. But I'm not sure how much he heard, taking into account the earsplitting music on his end and the rushing water on ours.

"Percy," Chiron yelled. "you have to watch out for—"

His voice was drowned out by a loud whooping behind him, like his dance club had gotten invaded by Comanche warriors.

"What?" Percy yelled.

"Curse my relatives!" Chiron ducked as a plate soared over his head and shattered somewhere out of our sight. "Annabeth, you shouldn't have let Percy leave camp! But if you _do_ get the Fleece—"

"Yeah, baby!" somebody yelled behind Chiron. "Woo-hooooo!"

The music got cranked up, going from "ear-shattering" to "brain-piercing." The subwoofers were so loud it made our own boat vibrate.

"—Miami," Chiron was yelling. "I'll try to keep watch—"

Before he could finish, our connection was shattered—literally—as if someone had thrown a bottle at it, and Chiron was gone.

* * *

><p>After an hour of jostling waves and sea salt in my eyes, we finally spotted land—a long stretch of beach dotted with high-rise hotels and tourists. The water became crowded with fishing boats and tankers. A coast guard glided past our starboard side, and seemed to do a double-take when he saw our dinky little boat going as fast as we were.<p>

"That's Virginia Beach!" I said as the shoreline become clearer. I remembered coming here so many times as a kid with my father, and plenty more without him… "Oh my gods, how did the _Princess Andromeda _travel so far overnight? That's like—"

"Five hundred and thirty nautical miles." Percy said.

I stared at him, wondering how he had known our location. The number seemed too exact to be just a guess. "How did you know that?"

"I—I'm not sure."

I thought for a minute. He was a son of Poseidon, so it made sense that he could know where we were by just _feeling_ it.

"Percy, what's our position?"

"36 degrees, 44 minutes north, 76 degrees, 2 minutes west," Percy said immediately. Then he shook his head. "Whoa. How did I know that?"

"Because of your dad," I guessed. "When you're at sea, you have perfect bearings. That is _so_ cool."

Percy considered that, but before he could respond, Tyson tapped his shoulder. "Other boat is coming."

I looked over his shoulder, and saw that he was right. The coast guard was on tail. I guess he found three kids on an inflatable boat in the middle of the sea questionable. The lights were flashing and it was steadily gaining speed.

"We can't let them catch us," Percy said. "They'll ask too many questions."

I looked back at the pristine beach, with children running along the shoreline and adults lounging in the sun.

And suddenly I was struck with a memory I didn't even know I still had—a little girl, her blonde hair raggedy, trudging across the white sands of Virginia Beach, lagging behind two people who looked equally as exhausted. They headed north—towards Chesapeake Bay, where they knew safety awaited them…

"Keep going into Chesapeake Bay," I said automatically. "I know a place we can hide."

Percy, thankfully, didn't ask any questions. He just opened the thermos a little more, and I held on to the boat tighter as we zoomed across the water with our fresh burst of wind. We soared around the northern tip of Virginia, circling into Chesapeake Bay. The coast guard fell behind. We didn't slow down until the sides of the bay narrowed and we entered the mouth of a river.

Percy's overall posture immediately changed as we left salt water and entered fresh water territory. His shoulders drooped and his grip on the thermos lessened. I directed him through the bay, going off memory.

"There," I said. "Past that sandbar."

The boat veered into a swampy area choked with marsh grass. I could hear the buzzing of bugs and the humidity hit me like a bucket of water. Steam curled off the river in the muggy heat. Vine-ridden cypress trees dotted the shoreline, blocking out the sun. It was all so familiar.

Percy beached the boat at the foot of a tree.

"Come on," I said, standing up. My knees were sore from sitting so long. "It's just down the bank."

"What is?"

"Just follow." I grabbed a duffel bag. "And we'd better cover the boat. We don't want to draw attention."

After burying the boat with heaps of branches and brambles, I set off down the shore with Percy and Tyson on my heel. My feet sunk into the red mud as I walked, slapping the bugs away from my face and avoiding the occasional snake.

"Not a good place," Tyson muttered from behind me.

After a few minutes, I stopped them. "Here."

I reached out and grabbed a handful of the rough branches that Thalia and I had spent half a day weaving. I tugged; it still worked.

The inside looked the same: it was spacious, constructed with woven-together branches as its walls, and built to accommodate half-bloods. Sleeping bags were tossed haphazardly into a corner, along with a jumble of blankets. An ice chest stood nearby with a kerosene lamp perched on top. Javelin tips, a quiver full of unused arrows, and an extra sword gathered dust by the door. It smelled musty and wet from being vacant for so long.

"A half-blood hideout." Percy looked at me; I kept my eyes securely on the floor. "You _made_ this place?"

"Thalia and I," I said quietly. "And Luke."

His eyes darkened at the name. A frown tugged at his lips and something was slithering around in his eyes, an expression that looked foreign on his face. At first glance, he just looked angry and uncomfortable. But then I narrowed my eyes. Was he… jealous?

For some reason, seeing him become envious made it hard to contain a smile.

"So…" Percy said, changing the subject. "You don't think Luke will look for us here?"

I shook my head. "We made a dozen safe houses like this. I doubt Luke even remembers where they are. Or cares." I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my tone.

_Thalia would be on my side_, I was back on the _Princess Andromeda_, Luke's voice slithering between my skin. I could practically hear the smirk. _If she were alive._

I threw myself down on a musty blanket and started rifling through my duffel bag, trying to ignore the burning in my eyes. I used rough movements and kept my head down, sending a pretty clear message to Percy and Tyson: _Don't you dare try to talk to me._

It seemed they got the general idea.

"Uh, Tyson?" I heard Percy say. "Would you mind scouting around outside? Like, look for a wilderness convenience store or something?"

"Convenience store?"

"Yeah, for snacks. Powdered donuts or something. Just don't go too far."

"Powdered donuts. I will look for powdered donuts in the wilderness." I heard his feet thumping against the dirt and the creak of the branch door as he left. "Here, donuts!"

Once the Cyclops's naïve shouts dwindled down in the distance, Percy sat down across from me. I didn't look at him. "Hey, I'm sorry about, you know, seeing Luke."

"It's not your fault," I said airily, unsheathing my knife and cleaning it with a rag, wishing fiercely I could stick into Luke's arm.

"He let us go too easily."

I nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. What we overheard him say about a gamble, and 'they'll take the bait'… I think he was talking about us."

"The Fleece is the bait? Or Grover?"

I studied the edge of my knife, wishing the answer to everything would be reflected in the blade. "I don't know, Percy. Maybe he wants the Fleece for himself. Maybe he's hoping we'll do the hard work and then he can steal it from us. I just can't believe he would poison the tree."

"What did he mean," Percy started. "that Thalia would be on his side?"

I flinched minutely; I hoped he didn't notice. "He's wrong."

"You don't sound sure."

I glared at him. He retreated a little under my gaze, eyeing the knife cautiously. "Percy, you know who you remind me of the most? _Thalia_." As I said it, the similarities fell into place: the stubbornness, the will to fight, the unwavering confidence, and, most of all, the sarcastic comments. "You guys are so much alike it's scary. I mean, either you would've been best friends or you would've strangled each other."

"Let's go with 'best friends.'"

"Thalia got angry with her dad sometimes. So do you. Would you turn against Olympus because of that?"

Percy fixed his eyes at a point above my shoulder. "No."

"Okay, then. Neither would she. Luke's wrong." I stuck my knife blade into the dirt, instantly dirtying the blade I'd just cleaned.

Percy dropped his eyes from the unseen point behind me. He looked like he wanted to say something. We sat in silence for a couple moments, though, before he opened his mouth again.

"So what did Luke mean about the Cyclopes?" he asked. "He said you off all people—"

"I know what he said," I cut him off before he could quote any more of Luke. I didn't want to talk about anything pertaining to the fair-haired traitor, but I guess that was the direction we were going. I guess Percy deserved to know. "He… he was talking about the_ real_ reason Thalia died."

Percy's eyes widened minutely, either from the shock that there were more than one reason for Thalia's untimely death, or that I was actually breaking the silence on my past after I'd been so tight-lipped about it.

I drew a shaky breath. "You can never trust a Cyclops, Percy. Six years ago, on the night Grover was leading us to Half-Blood Hill—"

I never got to finish my sentence. Just then, the door creaked open and Tyson crawled in. A white box was clenched in his hand.

"Powdered donuts!" he proclaimed proudly, holding up what I presumed to be a pastry box.

I stared at him, gaping. Where in Hades had he gotten _powdered donuts_? We were in the middle of nowhere, for crying out loud!

"Where did you get that?" I said. "We're in the middle of the wilderness. There's nothing around for—"

"Fifty feet!" Tyson finished. "Monster Donut shop—just over the hill!"

_Monster _Donut shop?

I looked over at Percy, and one thing passed between us: this couldn't be good.

At once, we scrambled out of the hut, following Tyson. I clutched my knife close like it was a lifeline.

* * *

><p>"This is bad," I muttered.<p>

We were crouching behind a tree, peeking around the trunk and looking at what was most definitely a donut shop. It was surrounded by woods, and its crisp white plaster walls and shiny windows with stickers advertising _50% percent off scones for a limited time only_ contrasted hugely with the raw wilderness. An empty parking lot was tucked off to the side with an asphalt road leading off into the forest. On a sign facing the road were the words MONSTER DONUT.

"This shouldn't be here," I whispered. "It's wrong."

"What?" Percy asked. "It's a donut shop."

"Shh!"

"Why are we whispering? Tyson went in and bought a dozen. Nothing happened to him."

"_He's _a monster."

"Aw, c'mon, Annabeth. Monster Donut doesn't mean monsters! It's a chain. We've got them in New York."

"A chain," I agreed. I remembered something I'd read last summer when I was filing papers in the Big House archive. Back in the fifties, some entrepreneurial children of Hermes found that by breeding monsters and tying their life force to a certain chain of stores through some complicated magic, they could open a new store with every monster killed. It was rather brilliant, actually.

"And you don't think it's strange that one appeared immediately after you told Tyson to get donuts?" I questioned. "Right here in the middle of the woods?"

Percy still looked lost, so I elaborated a bit more. "It could be a nest,"

"A nest for what?"

"Haven't you wondered how franchise stores pop up so fast?" I asked him. "One day there's nothing and then the next day—_boom_, there's a new burger place or coffee shop or whatever? First a single store, then two, then four—exact replicas spreading across the country?"

"Um, no. Never thought about it."

"Percy, some stores multiply so fast because all their locations are magically linked to the life force of a monster. Some children of Hermes figured out how to do it back in the 1950s. They breed—"

And then I froze.

Peeking over Percy's shoulder was a head—well, _heads,_ to be exact. I saw in horror a reptilian monster slithering towards us, its front half writhing in the leaves almost hypnotically and propelling it forward. It moved fluidly; dangerously. Seven necks sprouted from the torso, each sporting a head. They were diamond-shaped and scaly, with forked tongues larger than my arm slipping through sharp teeth and flicking out in the air.

A Hydra.

"What?" Percy demanded, not sensing the danger that was a mere three meters away. "They breed what?"

"No—sudden—moves," I whispered tensely. "Very slowly, turn around."

Percy did just that, his eyes widening as he took in the monster. Immediatley, being the brainless hero type that he was, he reached into his pocket for his sword.

_No, _I thought, forcing his eyes to lock on mine. _Not yet. It might see us. There's a chance it'll just pass._

He nodded, understanding. Monsters had terrible eyesight, and I thought, though maybe naively, that the Hydra would just ignore us.

The monster continued to slither towards us. I noticed that two of the heads were ripping something apart, something yellow—a duffel bag. So it had found the safe house. I almost sighed in the sudden sense of déjà vu. Another safe house, no longer safe.

I gripped my knife, hoping I didn't have to use it. The only way to permanently decapitate a Hydra was to burn the neck stump after the head had been sliced off. And, seeing as there was no fire around, slicing off the heads with just my knife would be useless and detrimental.

So escape was the only option. I scanned my surroundings, considering the road that led out of the woods. Maybe if we were quiet enough, we could creep out on to it and evade the monster, and somehow find another way to get back out into the ocean to continue our quest. The most ideal path—the one that led back to the safe house and river, was blocked by the Hydra. So the road was the only chance we had.

I was about to relay my plan to Percy when Tyson stumbled back, trembling, onto a twig. The crack that followed sounded like a gunshot in the tense silence.

Immediately, the Hydra's heads—all seven of them—turned in our direction, their necks swiveling around so fast they probably got monster-whiplash. Their beady eyes glared at us, hissing.

Well, crap.

"Scatter!" I hissed, diving to the right.

Percy rolled to his left, barely missing the arc of green acidic spit that flew from one of the Hydra's mouths. The poison instead found a victim with the tree behind Percy, boiling the bark and eating right through the trunk, disintegrating it. It tumbled down toward Tyson, who stood petrified from being in the presence of such a monster.

"Tyson!" Percy yelled, jumping at him and tackling him to the ground just as the Hydra lunged. The tree toppled down onto the monster, crashing on top of two of its heads.

The Hydra stumbled back, wailing in outrage. With a loud hiss, it shot seven arcs of greenish acid at the mangled tree, turning it into a nice-sized puddle of muck.

"Move!" Percy told Tyson. He whipped out his sword, and soon the Celestial bronze had claimed all of the Hydra's attention.

Oh gods, he better not be thinking about slicing off a head…

The Hydra continued to hiss and bare its knife-like teeth threateningly.

Percy waved his sword.

"Don't—" I started to say, but my voice was drowned out by a loud hiss of outrage. I seemed to be watching in slow motion as Percy raised his sword above his head, the blade coming down close to one of the monster's scaly necks…

"No!" I cried, but it was too late. With a sickening _schlik_, the head was no longer connected to the Hydra. The reptilian head, its jaws ajar mid-hiss, rolled away into the grass.

I watched in horror as the neck bled for a few seconds, and the bloated and began to swell. The single neck continued to enlarge until it split in two, each sprouting another hissing head, both looking madder than before.

"Percy!" I scolded. "You just opened another Monster Donut shop somewhere!"

A spray of acid whistled past Percy's face. "I'm about to die and you're worried about _that_? How do we kill it?"

"Fire!" I said. "We have to have fire!"

I looked around and saw we were woefully low on fire.

I thought of my short-lived escape plan, and revised it a bit. Maybe if we could get to the river and back onto the boat, we could escape the Hydra. It was worth a try.

We backed up toward the river. I moved in next to Percy and tried to take away one of the heads' attention by shoving my knife in its face—metaphorically, of course. I parried its teeth with my knife to keep it from munching on me, but I got blindsided by another head. It swung sideways and crashed into me like a pendulum, sending me flying into the tree-muck.

I landed with a grunt. A dull ache gathered in my low abdomen, spreading to my shoulder blades. I winced. The Hydra head towered over me, looking at me hungrily, and opened its jaw.

"No hitting my friends!" I heard Tyson scream. And suddenly he was between me and the Hydra, smashing in its face with a vicious force I'd never seen Tyson possessed by. With each punch the head recoiled, hissing but never spitting acid.

I quickly got to my feet, feeling oddly grateful. But even Tyson couldn't hold off the monster for long.

We kept inching backwards toward the lake, dodging acid and snapping heads. We deflected the scaly heads without cutting them off, but it didn't bring us any closer to killing the monster. If we didn't find out a way to escape soon, we would run out of fuel, and then we'd be done for.

And then I heard something strange—a type of _chug, chug, chug_ coming up the river. It was so loud it made the riverbank shake.

"What's that noise?" I shouted, not daring to relinquish my gaze on the Hydra to look behind me.

"Steam engine," Tyson said.

"_What?_" Percy said, dodging an acid spray.

And then a familiar female voice floated up from the river behind us, one that was tough and strong and sent a groan rocking through me. "There! Prepare the thirty-two-pounder!"

It was Clarisse.

Figuring out her identity was a no-brainer, once I heard the voice. The real question was: would she serve as an enemy, or an ally?

"They're too close, m'lady!" a gravelly voice said.

"Damn the heroes!" Clarisse shouted. "Full steam ahead!"

"Aye, m'lady."

"Fire at will, captain!"

Enemy, I thought. If she was willing to fire at us, then she was definitely posing as an enemy.

"Hit the dirt!" I yelled.

I dropped down, burying my face in the nasty soil, covering my head as an ear-shattering BOOM sent tremors rocking through the ground. There was a flash of light, a coulumn of smoke, and a shower of Hydra guts raining down over us.

I couldn't help but shout "Gross!" as the slime vaporized.

"Steamship!" yelled Tyson.

I stood up, coughing on the strong scent of gunpowder and smoke lingering in the air.

I searched for the source of the gunshot. I looked down the river and saw, chugging towards us, an old-fashioned steamboat, like one that I'd seen in a museum. It rode low on the water, half the hull covered by the murky river. The deck was plated with iron, hosting a casemate with slats on the sides for cannons. On the top, a flag depicting a wild boar and a spear—the symbol of Ares, unsurprisingly— snapped in the wind. On the side of the ironclad prow were the words _CSS Birmingham._ Lining the deck were dozens of zombies in gray uniforms—dead soldiers with shimmering faces that only partially covered their skulls.

And, standing next to a smoking canon, wearing Greek battle armor and a triumphant sneer, was Clarisse herself.

"Losers," she mocked. "But I suppose I have to rescue you. Come aboard."

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><p><strong>Review?<strong>


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